Flirting With Death
by Darknightdestiny
Summary: [Vincent x Tifa] Tifa deals with some personal demons, and Vincent soon finds her to be a fair distraction from his own. [NOTE: This is in the middle of the rewriting process.]
1. Prologue

**Flirting with Death  
Prologue  
By Rachel "D" Winslow  
**

Every night it was the same thing.

A midnight moon hung in view of the dusty window, spilling soft beams of light over the dark sheets, illuminating pale skin. He rose alone from his bed, cold night chills accompanying the beads of sweat now rolling down his body. One step and he fell forward in swift motion, a loud thud resounding throughout the room as his knees hit the hard wooden floor.

He gasped and coughed, his lungs aching for air as he struggled to regain his composure. It felt to him as if the walls by which he was surrounded were closing in, suffocating, threatening to choke the very life from him. Paranoia had exhausted him to no end, and the terrifying thing was that his fear was a fear born of his own mind, a devilish dream that he could not seem to separate from his consciousness.

With each fit the pain became worse, and no matter how he tried, he was unable to relieve it.

The hallways echoed with the pounding of his bare feet against the old and rotting wood. The sound drummed out a dull, lifeless, monotone beat from one end of the mansion to the other. It echoed throughout the staircase and followed him into yet another dusty room. He threw himself onto the stone hearth, and a new passageway was revealed.

His crudely tipped fingers groped out in the darkness, reaching out to the small box of matches that he kept sitting on the closest chair, atop the thick stack of old newspapers, readily rolled into small bundles. He had learned to keep both the papers and the matches nearby for just these occassions, after a nasty fall had caused him to lose all control, but he could barely bring his trembling hands to light one of the brittle matchsticks, even in the small amount of light that filtered through the doorway.

After several unsuccessful attempts, he finally managed to spark one smoky flame to life, and he nursed the flickering light until he had set one of the bundles ablaze. Once he entered the basement entrance, he used the paper to light the torch that was placed in a crevice in the stone wall. Down he travelled, his descent down the stairwell trailing drips of hot blood behind him.

And the stairs, oh, the stairs! His darkened, huddled form awaited the end, but the downward spiral seemed to stretch on for an eternity. He idly wondered as he mindlessly travelled the familiar steps exactly how long his suffering would last. He couldn't help but think, and bitterly, that his journey down to the underground lair was all too symbolic of his life as of late.

There were few steps to close the gap between himself and the heavy door that separated him from sweet release. He fell onto the hard wood, and once inside, he mounted his torch on the wall. He turned to face the dismal scene before him, hands clutching at his shoulders.

With the last bit of will he could muster, he threw the lid from his place of rest, and it slid quickly from its position to crash loudly on the stone floor. The firelight on the wall shone dimly behind him, shedding just enough light to project his shadow on the wall as he felt the change beginning to take effect. He turned away, and fell to the floor as his body began to shift form, the pain almost too much for him to bear.

There, on the floor, the glowing light flickered over the shining wood of his sepulchre, mocking him as did his shadow. He forced himself from the floor, unwilling to behold his reflection, lest he go mad and lose himself before the transformation was complete. He lifted his leg over the end of the sarcophagus and was on his knees in mere seconds, fierce agony ripping through the flesh of his back.

He resisted the urge to fall face-forward; he hitched his breath and held tightly to the head of the coffin, claw and hand both leaving impressions in the woodwork. He leaned forward, back arched, as bones tore through skin, tendons were stretched and tugged, threatening to rip him apart at the seams, and his breath escaped him in a loud cry that turned quickly to a shattering roar. His claws came up to grasp at his own shoulders, both piercing his flesh and spilling his blood.

Falling finally, he succumbed to satin lining and velvet cushions, neither of which provided him any comfort. Like the piles of bones surrounding him, he was resigned to his fate, and he could do nothing but remain buried underground, perhaps infinitely. Curled into himself, he could only wait for morning, as he could not find rest under the stars.

He lay there only half a man, his tail hanging from the edge of the box, his wings folded awkwardly behind him, and his clawed limbs restless in consuming his space. His body was caked with blood, and the tears stung bitterly, even worse than the gashes in his back or the pain that shot down his spine.

His body began to writhe, though his transformation was as far complete as it would be that night. How he hated being such a monster. And that hour reminded him that he was only half a man and half a demon, as he carried the appearance of a man during the day, and shouldered the emotions of a man when the sun had gone down.

His throat was tender from screaming, and he shut his eyes to block out the vision of his own twisted arms lying in front of his face. No one else could possibly know the terrors which he suffered. He truly was a madman's piece of work.

He would undergo a sort of rigor mortis in the morning; the night had taken everything out of him. He would simply lie there, knowing that he was in his place.


	2. Day In, Day Out

**Flirting With Death: Day In, Day Out  
Rachel "D" Winslow**

Tifa leaned over the stain polished countertop of the tavern. Her hair fell forward to brush the smooth surface as she bit her lip in concentration. Her eyes were trained steadily on the phone, as though she expected it to ring; perhaps if she willed it hard enough, she might get a call from someone whose voice she wished to hear.

If no one else, at least from him. He owed her that much.

_Cloud..._

She had wanted to stick by his side through it all; no matter how awkward it would inevitably get, she had promised herself that she would handle it. She wanted to show him that she could be there for him, because he meant that much to her, and that it made no difference what trials came into their lives; he could depend on her when things got tough.

He should have known that he could depend on her.

He had told her that he understood, that he truly appreciated everything that she had done for him. But he felt he had to shoulder his burdens alone; she shouldn't have to be as supportive as she was when she had her own life waiting for her. He'd thought he'd known her hopes and dreams, and he couldn't make them a reality, because his heart was unsettled.

He had helped her at first, for three months after Meteor. He'd helped her with the tavern, helped to get her settled into a new life. She'd agreed, and she'd let him draw her a plan, let him give her a purpose. Something to live for, now that she had her whole future ahead of her, and she didn't know what to do with it.

It had felt good, to be able to give her something back after all she'd given of herself. And he'd known that it would hurt her when he told her she couldn't go with him, if only for the reason that she felt she owed him something. It seemed she would never let him repay her. To him, it was her way of keeping him in her life, and the idea that he wanted to rid himself of his debt and thus be rid of her would kill her. That's how she would take it; she would think that he was done with her, and that he only wanted to leave in good conscience.

He'd tried to stabilize her, tried to give her a steady foundation. He'd wanted to make sure that when he was gone, she would be fine by herself. Of course, Tifa was capable of surviving on her own, but he had wanted her life to be one of quality, where she had something to her name that she could be proud of. Tifa's Tavern was just that thing.

But the longer he'd stayed and put off his own plans, the more he knew it would hurt her. After three months had passed, he walked into the tavern, and he'd told her that he'd be leaving.

She'd been silent at first, but then she'd perked up suddenly and gave him her best smile. That horrible, wonderful, fake smile that had easily fooled so many others and spited her face. It cut at him, and he began to wonder whether or not she would really be all right.

She told him; she was a big girl, and she could take care of herself. One carefully placed wink in his direction, and all doubt had been dispelled from his mind. Tifa was going to make it on her own, and she wouldn't be needing his help anymore.

They had said their goodbyes, but part of her had been hanging on every word, waiting for the moment when he would catch on, hoping that he would see how insincere she was. And then maybe he would stay.

He'd flashed her a winning smile before he headed out the door, casually admitting that he didn't know when he'd be seeing her next. And then he was gone from her sight. He couldn't know how long she'd spent slumped on the floor of the bar, crying bitterly, angry at herself and angry at him. Who, exactly, had they been trying to deceive with false pleasantries?

It had been a perfect, cloudless day, and she had been in the perfect mood until then.

Now the skies above Neo-Midgar were grey, and a heavy storm was on its way. Tifa tore her gaze away from the phone long enough to step outside and feel the morning mist on her shoulders. The forecast had predicted that the rain would last all day long, and she expected a swell of patrons just before it hit, scrambling to get at their "medicine" before they'd have to walk through a deluge to find it.

The fact that so many people were still struggling to rebuild their lives, combined with the fact that Tifa had a license to sell spirits by the bottle, had been quite conducive to the rise in stress level she had been experiencing. It was good for business; she'd been able to hire some help just before Cloud had left. Will and Jolene were a brother and sister pair, new to the city and looking for anyone that would have them. The extra hands had allowed Tifa enough time and space for more patrons, and she had acquired a considerable amount of savings, on top of what she paid her staff. She didn't know what she would ever do without them.

In fact, she was beginning to feel sort of...

Stuck.

Surrounded by the morose and their despairs each day, watching them as they drowned their sorrows, Tifa had begun to think that maybe she wasn't living the life she had hoped for. She was safe, for the most part, and financially stable. But there was a spot in the young fighter's heart that was far too soft for the daily grind, and she couldn't seem to harden herself to the idea that she could end up living her life as a feeding trough.

Maybe one day, things would get better. Maybe when Midgar had finished rebuilding, and there was finally something else to celebrate, the spirits of the city would liven up. As if barely escaping total annihilation wasn't enough to be happy about. Tifa was restless. It couldn't be that bad everywhere, could it?

She thought over the places she had been, the things she had seen. She had been happier travelling the world with her band of misfits, strangers forced into close quarters for the mission that bound them all to each other. She missed her friends.

Barrett had gone to Corel, another place that had needed rebuilding, and he had taken Marlene with him. She missed them both very much, and wondered if the people in Corel were anything like the citizens of Midgar, or if they had found some common ground to hold them together. Barrett had felt responsible for much of Corel lying in ruin, and so he was determined to do his part in rebuilding the town.

Tifa wondered what had become of Nanaki; she was sure he couldn't stay away from Cosmo Canyon for too long. He was eager and always searching for knowledge, so it wouldn't be farfetched to assume he had done some travelling, but she knew that he would always return home. He had a sense of pride about him, now that he had discovered his origins. He felt he had much to live up to.

Reeve had been occupied with the reconstruction projects in Midgar, and she had hardly had any time to see him at all. She thought of Yuffie then, trying to run Wutai in her father's shadow. She could only imagine the young ninja squirming atop her throne, unable to sit still long enough for any serious matter.

Tifa worried about Vincent. He hadn't made any mention of where he planned to go when they had all parted ways. Back then, she had let him go, thinking that he wouldn't want to be bothered by any intervention. She feared he might return to his coffin, curious as to whether or not he even could. It bothered her to think of him living a lonely life, full of regret. Of course, if he really wanted to talk to someone, Cid was on the other side of the mountains...

And as she thought of the old pilot, she visualized him soaring through the skies on his ship, free to see the world and explore it to his heart's content. Shera would be there, too, waiting on him hand and foot. Bless her heart; she cared too much for her own good.

It was at that moment that Tifa became aware of how stationary her life had become. Though she had been through so much pain, the fact that she survived had made her feel alive; everything had changed for her as soon as she left the walls that surrounded Midgar. Her drive to reclaim her life from the man who had taken it had given her a passion that kept her up each night until it was over, and even into the nights following.

This energy had led her to brave darkness and uncertainty, even in the face of possible desertion. If she truly had to, she would have gone down fighting with Cloud. She'd felt like she could have done anything in the world, and once the battle was over, she believed it.

Suddenly she felt very alone in the world.

She turned back to face the tavern she and Cloud had established together. The doors beckoned her to return, to wallow in more self-pity, the only thing they had to offer her. She walked up to the empty building and reached into her pocket, grasping for the small bit of metal that would change her world.

It was a whim, but she trusted her instincts wholeheartedly; she always had, ever since she was a child growing up in Nibelheim. She would follow her heart as long as she lived. If that meant the bar would die, then the bar would die. It wasn't her dream to begin with.

She locked the doors and ran all the way home.


	3. The Flower Bed of Sector Five

**Flirting With Death:** **The Flower Bed of Sector Five**  
**Rachel "D" Winslow**

Morning greeted Tifa Lockheart with a light drizzle tapping against her windowpane. She lazily lifted her head from her pillows and stretched her hands high above her head, trying to curl her toes over the edge of the bed. She'd been up late into the evening, thinking about what she wanted to do, who she might run into, and what she would need.

_Ugh_.

The weather was of no consequence. She would still be leaving, as soon as she paid her respects.

Tifa rose from her bed and dressed hurriedly in her old combat gear. After pulling on her suspenders, she sat on the end of her bed and busied herself with socks and bootlaces. She reached into the top left drawer of her dresser and recovered a lockbox; the key was taped to the underside of the drawer opposite it, and she fit the faded copper into the lock and turned it until she heard a familiar click. The sound brought back memories.

She set the box atop the dresser and fitted her fingers around the edges of the lid. When the top was lifted, a faded cloth of tanned, brown leather was revealed. A satisfied smile crept across her face when she flipped the thin layer of material back; black, leather gloves lay before her, alongside titanium knuckles. The bands were still lined with all of her mastered materia.

She slipped the gloves on. She then pulled a black, leather jacket from her closet and donned it before stopping by the foot of the kitchen stool to pick up a backpack; it contained a few essentials and plenty of extra space. Tifa took one more look around the apartment and smile once again before turning to go.

Puddles lined the slick pavement of Sector Five as the rain continued to fall steadily from the sky. Tifa led Mayonee, her gold chocobo, through the wet surroundings as they made their way through the streets to the memorial grounds. Reeve had erected several pillars in front of the church, embossed with the names of those who had died in the Meteor tragedy. The construction would take place around the building, but the plot itself and everything still on it would remain untouched.

A stone wall had been placed around the church and its stone garden, a barrier to the harsh world outside. It was no protection from outsiders, as there was an entrance carved out in front. The walls were merely there to signify it as a safe place, set apart from the rest of the city. They seemed to say, "Come and take shelter within us, escape from your troubles and find peace within these halls."

A stone arch was placed above the entrance; neatly etched into it was the title, "Aeris Gainsborough Gast Memorial". It was a reminder to all who passed through the archway of her sacrifice, so that no one would forget her love for the planet. Maybe one day, others would come to appreciate that kind of love, and be willing to give up their comforts for those who had no hope.

Tifa studied the archway for a long while, then sighed as she lowered her head and led Mayonee through behind her.

When she reached the old wooden doorway, she glanced back at Mayonee. "I'll be back soon," she said, a gentle look overtaking her features. Mayonee warked in reply and then settled down in the dirt to wait. Tifa continued on through the entrance of the church.

As she walked towards the head of the building, she eyed the soft bed of yellow flowers in the center of the front of the room. Surprisingly, they were still growing. They had all assumed that Aeris' flowers grew in such harsh conditions because she provided them the care that only a child of the planet could give.

More flowers had been springing up all over the area, ever since the plate was dismantled. The rain could now reach the ground where the slums used to lay before everything changed. But these flowers were still the most beautiful, most perfectly formed blooms she had ever seen.

It was not long before Tifa found herself sitting on the floor of the church, gazing at the blooms with deep interest. Sweet Aeris, her friend and ally, and also the one person she'd ever had any reason to feel jealousy towards. So bright and cheerful, always able to let any cruel circumstances roll right off her shoulders. She forgave easily, even when Cloud had lost his mind. And then she had fled, her destination being their salvation.

He had felt so guilty when she'd left; the last thing that had passed between them before he saw her in the Village of the Ancients was his harmful attempt against her, as he struggled to maintain control of his synapses. His sanity had hung by only a thread, and still she forgave him. And he'd felt so responsible...

They had known each other only a short time, but she was sitting there, in the middle of her flower patch, and Cloud was speeding off to seek his peace.

Tifa awoke several moments later, soft yellow petals tickling her skin. The blooms carressed her face and comforted her troubled spirit as the rain fell through the cracks in the ceiling. Tifa rubbed at her sleepy eyes and slowly brought herself to her feet. It was time for her to go.

On her way out, she stopped in front of the doorway and turned to face the stream of dim light that fell down upon the flowers.

_...Goodbye, my friend._

Tifa arrived in Kalm at dusk. She found some stables and rented a stall for Mayonee to stay the night in, before trudging to the inn herself. Once there, she paid for a room and went upstairs, tempted to simply flop down on the bed right away and fall into a deep sleep that would last for hours. She was quite tired, having not yet recovered from her nap in Sector Five, and looked at the bedsheets longingly.

She shed her cold and dripping clothes in defiance and threw them over the towel rack in the bathroom. Tifa then crossed the room in huge strides, making her way to the bed as quickly as possible. She sunk down into the soft mattress, curling into the sheets. She rolled around for a short while, warming her naked skin in the blankets wrapped about her form, and then she was asleep on the pillow.

The next morning found her newly energized and ready to go. She hopped from the bed, chancing a glance out the window. The rain had let up, and the sun was shining brightly outside. Tifa bounded over to the shower, making note to herself to grab the leftover soaps for the road. She remembered how hard it had been travelling for days before they'd acquired the Highwind; they had to bathe in streams or not at all, and she wanted to have some shampoo handy.

When finished with her wash, she pulled on her clothes and laced up her boots, anxious to get out of the town. She grabbed her coat and stuffed it into her pack, knowing that she wouldn't need it for a while. Soon, she was flying down the stairs, wet hair trailing behind her.

She stopped in the dining hall to pick up something quick for breakfast; she left with a blueberry muffin and juice carton in hand, shouting a quick "Thanks!" over her shoulder before rushing out the door. After stopping by a shop to pick up some supplies and greens, she headed over to the stables and loosed Mayonee.

"You ready for an adventure?"

Mayonee gave an energetic "wark," in reply, which Tifa took to mean a "yes," and they were off as soon as they had both eaten. Mayonee tore across the plains like a yellow fire with Tifa's brown hair streaming after her, dried by the winds that flew past them. They sped over the quickly approaching marshes, Mayonee's speed on their side. When they reached the caves, Tifa stopped her feathered friend and took one look back.

_Goodbye for now. Maybe I'll come back once I've found whatever it is I'm searching for._


	4. Taverns, Toys and Twinklings

**Flirting with Death: Taverns, Toys and Twinklings  
Rachel "D" Winslow**

Neon lights flashed against the night sky, seeming to burst forth from the stars. The blackness appeared to blanket a mist, the illuminating brightness of the Gold Saucer trapped beneath the nearly invisible stars above. Marlene tugged on her companion's arm.

"Tifa, can we go watch the chocobos?" Her wide eyes peered up at the older woman, excitement revealed in their depths.

"Sure we can!" she replied, beaming at her. "Then, we can go and get some ice cream!"

Marlene's face lit up with grattitude. "Oh, Tifa! Thank you so much!"

There was a huge smile plastered on the child's face as she raced Tifa to the Chocobo Arena. As soon as they got there, they found three seats and readied themselves to watch the races. Marlene was hugging a huge, stuffed chocobo and had a big bag on candy in her lap. Tifa sipped on her soda as she waited for Barrett to join them, and soon her mind had wandered off into space.

She had done a fair amount of travelling the past couple of days, but it had been alright, she decided. After leading Mayonee through the caves beyond the marshes, she had made her journey to Junon. She'd stopped by Priscila's house long enough to say hello, and then she had boarded a boat headed for Costa del Sol. Her arrival had been late in the afternoon, and so she spent the rest of the day relaxing on the beach, bathing in the surf and enjoying the sunset. She awoke to another thunderous downpour later that night outside the beach cottage she had rented. After a short time, she was able to fall back to sleep, soothes by the sound of palm branches brushing softly against the window.

The next morning, Tifa had set out with Corel as her destination. She wanted very badly to see Barrett and Marlene, and she was curious to know how the small town was developing since Meteor. By the time she had made it through the valley and to the old railroad tracks, the heat and the dry air had exhausted her. She was glad to find that the tracks had been repaired and put back into use, and that the old reactor had been turned into a storehouse for the city's supplies. She was able to hitch a ride on the train, though she had to pay a small fee to take Mayonee with her, and landed safely in Corel later that afternoon.

She had still been quite tired, and Barrett had been kind enough to put her up in his house, so she immediately went there to take a nap. She was awoken later in the evening by a hyper Marlene; her daddy had promised to take her to the Gold Saucer that night, and she told Tifa it would mean the world to her if she would go with them. It was then that an idea occurred to Barrett; he could ask Tifa to watch Marlene for a while, so that he could go to the Battle Arena. This made him happy, as he had been unwilling to leave Marlene's side in such a crowd, and Tifa would spoil the girl, having not seen her in so long.

Tifa was shaken from her thoughts when Barrett slumped down heavily into the open seat at Marlene's side. "Heya, Marlene!" he boomed. "Daddy missed ya a whole lot! 'Ave ya been good fo' Tifa?"

"Yes, papa." She paused in the middle of lifting some candy to her mouth. "We went to Wonder Square, and I won a chocobo! See?" She held it close for him to look at. "And Tifa beat a wrestler in an arm-wrestling match!"

Barrett smiled and ran his hand through his little girl's hair. "Sounds like ya'll been havin' a good time. Thanks, Teef."

"Sure thing. I'm happy to look after her," Tifa replied, grinning. Then she found a question for the man. "...You're back earlier than I thought you would be. Weren't you in the Battle Dome?"

"Well, ah was..."

"You didn't get beat, did you, Barrett?" She paused, and he gave her a sheepish look. She gasped. "You did! What happened?"

Barrett sighed. "Coupl'a freaky flyin' reptiles ganged up on me, and ah got all froze up. Weren't able t' move too quickly afta dat first shock, an' ah had ta' call it quits."

Tifa stifled her laughter, but it caught in her throat and squeezed out a strange, snorting sound. She tried to imagine the giant man running away from a couple of tiny dragons as they shot their whispy breath at him.

He shot her a hurt look and shifted in his seat. "Ah don't see what's so funny, Teef."

"Oh...nothing, much." Her grin grew wider as she admitted, "Just trying to picture it."

"Uh-huh. Well you jes' keep on tryin'. I ain't gonna care." He waited. "Much." Tifa burst with her restrained laughter.

"Papa, Tifa, look!" Marlene squealed in excitement. "The races are starting!"

And so they all watched the races together.

Tifa woke up early the next morning, wanting to get an early start across the plains of Gongaga. She was hoping to make it to Cosmo Canyon by nightfall. Barrett offered to take her to breakfast before she left, and she had agreed, so the three of them spent some time at the tavern in the town plaza. Being there vaguely reminded her of her own tavern; she was still a bit anxious over it. She'd left in such a hurry and hadn't allowed herself to give it a second thought. Hopefully, she would still have business there when she went back.

If she went back.

She offered Barrett to go along with her, though she didn't really expect him to say 'yes'; he had plenty to do around town. She wasn't disappointed. He would be spending a lot of time in the fields just outside of Corel, harvesting the most recent yields. There was much to be done, and they needed to fill the storehouse with fresh crops.

Tifa made mention that Nanaki would probably enjoy a visit from Barrett and little Marlene, and so Barrett agreed to take his daughter there when the harvests were over. After a hearty meal, the group returned to Barrett's house and grabbed her things. As soon as she had said goodbye to them both, and saddled Mayonee, she was off.

The plains of Gongaga were flat and lush, but they seemed to stretch on forever; at the end lay the desert mountains. Tifa was thankful that Barrett had sent plenty of water with her. After a while, she wanted to take a break; she slowed Mayonee, and she let the chocobo graze in the fields while she sat down to drink some water.

Staring off into the horizon, she couldn't help but think the landscape was indeed beautiful. She could see the hills of Cosmo Canyon rising in the distance; she idly thought to herself that the canyon would make for a wonderful vacation spot, especially for young lovers.

She hoped it wasn't too much longer before she arrived there. Getting anxious, she called Mayonee to her side, knowing that ascending the rocky plateaus that awaited her would take just as long as it would to reach them. She was determined to make it by the time the stars were out, and she wasn't going to let the hot afternoon sun slow her down.

Several hours later, Tifa found herself staring up at the stars from her spot by the bonfire. She sighed to herself, marveling at the pulsing light, tiny specks in the distance, reaching to the planet from so far away. Not like at the Gold Saucer. Out in the wilderness, she could see them all so clearly, and they were beautiful.

She remembered what Cid had said a long time ago; in the grand scheme of things, the planet was a small child that still needed to be taken care of. She suddenly felt very small herself, and so insignificant in comparison. Sometimes she wanted to be taken care of, too. She was a mature woman, and experienced with matters of life; she knew how to take care of herself. Still, she felt very alone most of the time. She was aware that she had friends who cared for her, but she still felt that something was missing in her life. A hint of sadness came over her, and she shivered at the contrast of the cool breeze next to the fire.

The pricking of tears behind her eyes did not go unnoticed by her furry companion. She tried to blink them back, but they still misted over her eyes, forcing her to lift a hand. Nanaki spoke.

"Tifa...may I ask what is troubling you?"

"Hmm?" She sniffed. "Oh...not much." She tried to smile, but it was a pathetic attempt, and she knew it.

"You appear pensive. On top of that, you seem drained. What are you thinking about?" The fiery beast tilted his head, ready to listen, willing to understand.

Tifa laughed to herself, thinking she would appear foolish to him, but she continued on anyways. More than anything in the world, she wanted someone to make her feel better. "I was just remembering something that Cid said...back during the whole Meteor thing."

"What might that be?"

She wiped furiously at her eyes. "...He was saying how small the planet seemed from space, and that it still needed somebody to take care of it. I was just thinking...if the planet is so small in the infinite reaches of space, then we must be really, really small."

Nanaki gathered from her expression and the tears in her eyes that she was breaking from loneliness, and that by 'small', she meant 'insignificant'.

"True, we are small," he said, purring with satisfaction, "but it was we who helped to save the planet. Perhaps we are not so small after all?"

"I guess..." she smiled sadly, "that I'm just looking for a purpose. I mean, I'm sure there's one out there for me, and that's why I'm looking. But I don't even know where to start. Maybe I'm just not easily satisfied..."

"...You left Midgar to search for a new life?"

Tifa shrugged. "I don't know if I'm looking for a whole new life. But...I wanted to shake things up a bit. I don't want to be stuck, unless I'm finally satisfied with where I am." She smirked to herself. "Just bored, I guess. I don't know why."

Nanaki brought his head down to rest upon his paws and closed his eye. "Hmmm." He appeared to be in deep thought for a moment. Then he opened his eye again and looked up at her. "Perhaps you will find what has been absent in your life. Or..." a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, "perhaps you already hold the truth. You just need to discover it for yourself." With that, his smile was complete, and he closed his eye again.

Tifa sighed again, pulling her blanket over her. How could she possibly know how long it was going to take? Maybe it would be weeks. Maybe it would be years. What if she never found it?

She tried to lift her spirits, thinking that for all she knew, it could be found the very next day. She knew what she'd have to do. She would start at the very beginning, the place where she grew up. The place where she lost everything, and her life was changed forever.

Tifa drifted off to sleep, soothed by the sound of the beast's breathing. The next day, she would head to Nibelheim.


	5. Restless Friends and the Numbers in Thei...

**Flirting With Death:** **Restless Friends and the Numbers in Their Floorboards  
Rachel "D" Winslow**

(A/N): RikkuFF10 said something about missing out on getting Vincent in the party and I didn't know if that meant not knowing how or whatever, but the first time I played I had no idea how to get either Vincent or Yuffie. I went and beat up Sephiroth and came out going, "That's IT! I thought I was supposed to have two more people!" So anyways, if anyone didn't know, you'll know how to get Vincent if you read this. Um…trying not to spoil the chapter. Here we go!

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They raced as they went, two blurs if gold and red streaking across the plains. Mayonee was working quite hard, and if Red ran any faster, Tifa feared his tail might catch up with him. The canyon seemed to stretch on forever, and the rush of the mountain air was exhilarating for Tifa. When they reached the grass, Red halted to a stop as Tifa kept on. She cast a long glance over her shoulder as she waved goodbye. Nanaki watched her go until she was completely out of sight, hoping that she would have all the success he felt she deserved.

Tifa had fed Mayonee early that morning, and she was determined not to stop until she reached Nibelheim. She barely had time to notice the scenery as she cut through the fields with ease. She rounded the mountainside quickly as the river came into view. She could see her hometown rising in the distance; it wasn't even mid-day yet, and already she was close.

Tifa had qualms about entering the city; memories of Nibelheim brought her mostly pain, and she didn't enjoy dwelling on that emotion when she could help it. As she approached the village, she saw the ShinRa Mansion looming in the back of the square, and Mount Nibel towering in the distance. The mansion had always given her the creeps, and she wasn't in any hurry to revisit that part of her past. She decided she would save that for last; first, she would go into town and browse the market for anything interesting. Maybe she would strike up a conversation with the people, and find out what was new in the area.

She hadn't seen anyone mulling about in the square; she couldn't understand why, since it was a perfect day outside. Naturally, she assumed that the market would be virtually empty, and she found it to be true. She had merely thought she had escaped the crowds, but she soon realized that the shop was missing an owner as well. Dusty shelves were void of everything but cobwebs; whoever the previous attendant had been, he wasn't returning.

A quick look around the rest of town proved futile. There was not a soul to be found, and most of buildings were near to falling. Her own house was dilapidated and sunken to one side; whomever had been hired to reconstruct the town had done a very shoddy job of it indeed. No wonder it had turned to a ghost town, streets completely empty. There was no life to be found anywhere.

Perhaps the false residents had all left after the fall of ShinRa; their conspiracy uncovered, their paychecks had been taken from them. Tifa herself wouldn't stay even if someone paid her. She'd come to rather dislike the presence of the quiet mountain town, and the eerie silence was beginning to grate on her nerves. She wondered if Reeve would send anybody out to the town in hopes of reviving it.

Tifa drew in a deep and shaking breath as she looked up to the old mansion, unbelieving that she was about to venture inside. It had torn her attention from her old house, which she didn't feel much like entering either way. Someone else had stayed there since she; her house had been burned down a long time ago. Anything resembling it would only serve to remind her that it wasn't hers.

She would have much rather walked past the old mansion and get on with her journey, but her curiousity had to be sated. She wasn't so much interested in exploring the mansion as she was in exploring what lay beneath it... or what didn't. She figured it was time she found out.

She had hated the mansion for a long time. The green rot covering the wood floors reminded her of mako; the dead trees reminded her of the dead bodies they'd found in the basement, along with Vincent. The overall appearance of the mansion reminded her of something out of a horror story; it was the classic, haunted house.

Her breath hitched as she walked through the creaking gate, leaving Mayonee to wander in the yard. She steadied herself and walked through the front door; it came surprisingly easy to her. As a team, they had fought many monsters within those walls; they'd gone bursting in, unannounced, making dreadful amounts of noise. Now the strange silence had her feeling as if she should have come in through some back entrance, her presence forbidden in the dark halls. Unconsciously, she snuck through the house on the tips of her toes.

No goblins or bats approached her this time; no odd noises came to disturb her at all. The inside of the mansion appeared just as it had the last time she'd been there; the wooden floors were still covered with that mako-green color, and rot continued to run up the corners of the walls, seeming to stretch on endlessly. Staring up to the ceiling, she felt as if she was sitting at the bottom of a long neglected swimming pool. The rays of light that shone through the windows betrayed the thousands of dust particles floating through the air.

Glancing around the room, her eye caught a bit of crumpled, yellow paper on the floor to her left. Bending over to look at it, she realized it was the old note that Hojo had left behind, giving clues to the whereabouts of his prisoner. Tifa read the letter to herself, remembering the time they had spent combing the mansion for those clues. The paper was obviously well-worn; they'd assumed the Turk to be dead, but curiousity had led them to find out what else was in that room. They had been sorely disappointed in what they had found; only skeletons, dead bodies of those who had probably angered the scientist to no end, to be deserving of such a fate. That was, until she had lost her footing, and knocked her head on the only covered deathbed in the room.

She tried to remember the combination to the safe. 'It was...ten to the right...' She searched her mind for the missing information. 'I know I remember the last one was ninety-seven...to the right.'

It was hard, remembering. It should have followed that the numbers stood out in her mind quite easily; it wasn't that long ago, and they were etched so crudely into the various pieces of furniture around the mansion. They had all had to remember the combination, just to make sure that they didn't get it wrong. In her excitement, she must have forgotten all about it once it was over.

However, she did think that she could remember where the clues were located. Not that she needed to know, but it would be a memory worth reliving, should she want to find out. She decided, after a moment, that it might be fun, and she wondered if she could revive that sense of anticipation, if she could relive that moment when she'd not known what they would find. She could almost remember the feeling of butterflies in her stomach.

'Searching for a man locked beneath the old mansion...'

The only number she was certain about was the very last one, so it mattered not that mold had started to grow over the faded ink. She started off through the mansion, looking for the places that had led them to find the key to Vincent's tomb. He'd kept it on him after that, hung round his neck like some morbid charm. She'd thought it strange at first, but she then realized that it was a part of him that no one else could touch, and for that, it was personal to him.

Still, she enjoyed remembering everyone around her, scrambling to figure out what heach of the clues on the paper had meant. There had been whining and arguments, all in jest and all with good intentions. She remembered Cloud scratching his head as Yuffie had complained and insisted, and Aeris trying to be the voice of reason amongst them all. It was nice, remembering everyone together again.

Tifa walked into the room with the huge stained-glass windows. She bent down to look at the left side of the old piano; _(1)Right 10 _was scratched into the side. She thought about trying the keys, but something washed over her and made her feel as if it would be wrong to touch the instrument, like doing so would be a grave disturbance to the only peace left in the mansion. She decided to let it be.

Tifa left the room, making her way up the creaking stairs and across the hallway to stop in front of the room with the secret passageway in it. She turned to her left then, and she began prying at the floorboards with her hands, trying to find the loose one. Her fingertips started to become awfully sore, but she didn't mind it so much when she finally found the right one. '_(3)Right 59..._'

She was excited at last, and nearly ran the rest of the way to the west wing of the house. Seconds found her in the conservatory where the old treasure chest sat, still open. She nearly jumped over to the back of the chest in eagerness, and stole a glance at the lid. 'Aha! _(2)Left 36!_' Tifa shot her right hand up in the air and let out a clipped whooping sound. When she'd ended her brief celebration, she was facing the doorway; something caught her attention then, something that she hadn't noticed when she'd first entered the mansion.

She immediately recognized the room as being the place where Cloud had stayed with Zack when they were waiting for Sephiroth to emerge from the basement library. Before there had been two beds; now there was only one, and it was in the center of the room. She crossed the hallway, new curiousity and a bit of apprehension taking over her. She stopped inside, a short ways from the door. She'd remembered many things about the mansion, and she knew right away that the room was far different from the last time she'd seen it.

For one, it was clean.

Tifa's brown eyes danced, taking in every detail of the room. It was odd, almost fitting for such a place, but it was anything but boring. Rotted tapestries throughout the house had complimented the rotting floors and musty smell. This room lacked such things.

The bedsheets were a black satin, topped with velour blankets of the same color. There were also heavy, velveteen curtains of black that hung down to the floors, held back loosely with silken, black ropes. From where she stood, she could see the view quite clearly, as if the window had been replaced. The floor of the room had been completely redone, clean and varnished wood now holding her up confidently, instead of creaking, rotting wood that could easily give way. The walls had been stripped of the rotting paper and covered in flat stones.

Two silvery sconces decked the wall above the bed, one on each side; they held deeply colored garnet candles, which, though not lit, she could tell smelled of wild spices. She noticed four more sconces; two were behind her on each side of the doorway, and there was one on each side wall. She imagined the room could be easily illuminated. Turning to face the room once more, she thought of that particular satin and velour bed bathed in soft candlelight, and she caught a shiver running up her spine.

The entire room felt somehow warmer than the rest of the house. There was an overshadowing heaviness in the room...a feeling of oppression. There was a coldness, but the room had a certain warmth to it. Someone had been _living _there. The entire top story had seemed better kept than the lower story, especially the west wing. But the only person she could ever imagine taking up residence in the mansion, the only person that would ever take to a house that was cold, dark, musty and falling apart was...

She jumped suddenly as a throat was cleared behind her, accounting for the warmth and oppression in the room.


	6. The Mystery Resident Revealed

**Flirting With Death: The Mystery Resident Revealed**  
**Rachel "D" Winslow**

Tifa whirled around in surprise and nearly toppled over, landing herself neatly on the edge of the bed. She tried to right herself and get into a fighting stance, but the velour blankets clung to the skin of her legs, and she couldn't make her feet to reach the floor. She pushed herself from the bed with her hands and faced her offender for the first time.

"V-Vincent!" Of course. It didn't change the fact that she was surprised by him, and that it could have been someone else. She tried to make her gaping mouth work. "What are you doing here?" Stupid question. She mentally whacked herself upside the head.

"...I should be asking you." She noticed the way he leaned against the doorway; his body language said he waited expectantly for an answer, but his eyes and his smooth monotone voice said he didn't care to get one. No matter; her mind was far too preoccupied to afford him an explanation.

She walked over to the side wall to trace the decorated sconce with her fingers, a bit uncomfortable with the way he was standing in the doorway. As she moved out from under his gaze, he turned his attention to the opposite corner of the room, focusing his eyes on the spot where the floor met with the wall, to the right of the bed. "...Is this your room? You came back to the mansion after all?"

She was met with silence. She should have expected such a thing from him, especially after she'd met his question with another one. No sense in expecting Vincent Valentine to divulge personal information if she herself was unwilling to do the same. There was an unspoken ratio in his countenance; she knew she'd have to give much more to get any reaction out of him.

"Um-"

"Have a seat."

"Okay..." The interruption was certainly unexpected.

Tifa looked for a place to seat herself, but she saw no chairs in the room. After a bit of hesitation, she crept slowly to the bed, watching his face for any signs of disapproval. She saw none; his face remained as passive as ever. She settled into the spot which she had so clumsily fallen to earlier, and moved a bit to one side in order to make room for him to join her. He remained standing, but shifted to the inside wall of the room rather than remained leaning on one shoulder over the threshold. She appraised him for a bit while she tried to think of something to say, but she soon stopped as she noticed him watching her, watching him.

Vincent was never one for much conversation, and though they'd had a few exchanges before, it had been much easier on her when they'd been travelling with the group. Back then, they'd had much more to talk about; even Vincent had a word or two to be spoken from time to time. Now she found herself lacking for subject matter and fidgeting under his crimson gaze. "So...what h-have you been doing all this time?"

She hadn't meant to lose her breath in her words, but it went seemingly unnoticed as Vincent merely looked around the room, gesturing to the changes with a short nod of his head.

"Right." She looked around the room again; it certainly was nice. She got an idea. "Are you going to do this with the rest of the house?"

He raised one eyebrow suggestively. "Perhaps. Will you be so helpful in removing the floorboards?"

She blushed profusely at his dark humor. "I...it was..." She dared not look at him, fearing she would see the amusement in his eyes at her expense. "Oh, nevermind." She only stared at his black boots, which she noticed accompanied the same uniform pants she was used to seeing him wear. Then something struck her. "...How long were you watching me?" Her eyes flicked up to him, her fears long forgotten, just in time to see his red cloak trailing behind him as he left the room. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"...To the basement," his voice came from the stairway as he descended.

"But-!" She made a move to follow him; when she'd gotten into the hallway, he was already gone without a trace. She decided on following; she wouldn't stand for being ignored, even by him.

Tifa headed for the secret passageway and walked down the stairs to the basement. Those stairs brought back memories, many bad, but a few of them good; she was reminded of Yuffie and Cait's antics. Tifa had always suspected that the two of them got along so well because Reeve had wanted a daughter one day. Both Tifa and Cloud had known what serious business they were into, but Yuffie and Cait were determined to lighten the mood, as usual.

She stopped in front of the door to the basement crypt and tried the handle. It was locked. She tried knocking, hoping that he would open it for her; he couldn't just leave her out there like that, could he? He'd just run into her after all that time; though he owed her nothing, it still seemed cruel. "Vincent..." she called out. "Vincent, please open the door. I _know_ you hear me, so don't ignore me! I just want to talk to you..." She sighed. "Vincent..."

"Yes?"

She jumped at the sound, soft as it was. She glanced over and saw him standing off to her right, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Don't scare me like that!" she berated him. "Why are you so hard to keep track of?"

He looked pensive for a moment, as if he was contemplating her question. Instead, he countered with one of his own. "...Why were you shouting at that door?"

"Well, I guess I thought that was where you were going, when you said you were headed for the basement." Of course, it didn't make sense that he would have put a new bed in his home if he wasn't sleeping in it. Still she wondered if he ever spent time in the coffin, for whatever reason. It didn't have to be a good reason; she never thought he had a good excuse for wanting to stay there in the first place when they'd met him.

She had stopped her internal debate, when she noticed that Vincent had already turned around and was heading into the library.

Tifa stepped into the old lab and looked around. The room itself seemed to be in exactly the same shape it was in when she'd last been there, but he'd apparently moved some furniture around. The desk was on the far side of the room and facing the door, with an old chair she'd recognized from outside the basement sitting behind it. The machines that had been used to house mako test subjects were missing, and all of the scattered debris was put neatly back onto the shelves. She didn't think it the most comfortable room in the world, but it was definitely moreso without the oversized test tubes.

She walked down the book-lined aisle, letting her fingers play along the binders of the books as her eyes flitted over the shelves. There were so many volumes full of theories and fact, old reports, and some subjects she didn't even recognize. Aeris' father, Professor Gast, must have spent much of his time reading; Hojo too, though he had probably owned some material she would never dream of reading, lest she be sick. She preferred not to think of him if she could help it. Somehow, the shelves seemed a bit more crowded than before...

Tifa was still lost in thought when she reached the other end of the hallway, and her eyes wandered about the room aimlessly, drifting amongst the walls from faded color to faded color. They eventually landed on the form of Vincent; he was sitting behind the desk in the far room, directly in her path. She watched him for a moment; he seemed to be completely absorbed in the book he held out in front of him in his right hand. He leaned back in his chair, legs crossed atop the desk; overall, he appeared quite relaxed in his reclining position, and he made no move to indicate that he was aware of her presence. Yet she thought she knew better; he had known she would follow him.

He raised his eyes to meet hers, his crimson orbs burning right through her. She quickly averted her eyes and stared at a spot on the floor; she glanced up after about half a minute to see if he was still staring her down. He wasn't; he had returned to his book. She took a step forward rather awkwardly and cleared her throat. Vincent did not lift his head as he spoke.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

She had gotten another idea into her head. "Would you...give me a room for the night?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

Vincent was silent for quite a while. She was beginning to think that he hadn't been listening for her answer, or perhaps she hadn't had enough volume behind her words when she'd asked him. She was a bit nervous, after all.

"Ahm-"

"...You want to stay here?" There was a lack of any inflection in his voice. It was only a mundane detail to him as he leafed through his book.

"Yes. Yes I do." Her hopeful smile broke out into a genuine grin. Despite Vincent's lack of interest, she was much more confident at the hint that it might be a possibility.

More silence, more waiting. These long pauses were starting to get to her.

"So...can I? Please, Vincent?" He remained still for a moment longer, his lips unmoving, and his eyes still sheltered by his long, raven hair. He was still engrossed in his book.

"If that is what you wish." Soft, toneless, completely Vincent. No matter that Tifa had expected that from him in the event that she got a 'yes'; it was still strange to her.

"...Aren't you even going to ask me why?" Her hands were clasped behind her back as she eyed him skeptically.

He frowned slightly. "...None of my business."

She had taken enough of his stoicism for the day. She walked around to the side of the desk he was closest to facing, and then mounted it, eventually having perched herself cross-legged on top. "All right, Vincent. You and I have never really talked, so I thought maybe you'd enjoy a visit, since I've been travelling and all. I didn't really expect you to be here; I figured if you'd returned to this place, then it would be to your coffin." She paused. "Did you know that the entire town's been emptied?"

Vincent lowered his book and quirked one thin eyebrow upwards in her direction. As if he'd never gone outside. But then again, she'd probably expected him to be a shut-in.

"Ah...I'm sorry. Would you maybe like to..." she stopped, unsure of whether to go on. 'I seriously doubt he wants to catch up...' she thought to herself.

"I'll get a room ready for you." He shut his book and rose from his seat, walking towards the exit. Tifa watched him go, still unfinished with her questions. She could hear the sound of his footsteps change as he moved from the wooden floors of the lab to the hardened dirt that lined the hallway outside of his old crypt. He had always seemed to be sneaking around on the Highwind, and scaring her inadvertently, as well as the others. She had to admit, she found his quiet ways and fear of drawing attention to himself rather endearing.

Tifa thought about following him out before deciding against it. After all, he didn't need any help in setting up a room, and he most likely wouldn't appreciate her hovering. He was most considerate by nature, and she knew she didn't have anything to worry about. If there was a problem, she could ask him about it later; for now, she would let him have a break.

She walked around the back of the library and browsed the shelves until she saw something that might be interesting. Then she plopped down in his chair and began to read.


	7. Night at the Mansion

**Flirting With Death: Night at the Mansion  
Rachel "D" Winslow**

Tifa's eyes slowly fluttered open, and she felt her face pressed against something hard and smelling of pine. She found herself sitting up and stretching somewhere between reality and dreamland, and as her eyes began to focus, she realized that she had fallen asleep on the desk in the back room. She pushed herself from the object and stood slowly on cramped legs, stretching until she heard a bone in her back make a cracking sound. She wondered how long she had been sleeping.

Setting down the book on marine life that she'd been reading, she straightened her clothes and glanced down the hallway; Vincent was nowhere to be seen. She gathered that she must have done more than nod off slightly. She made for the end of the hallway, breaking into a run when she noticed the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. She jumped up beneath it, swiping at the beaded strand hanging from the switch, and landed with a loud 'thud' in the center of the lab before dashing out and down the basement hallway.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Tifa swung her leg up and over the high, stone opening of the passageway, climbing out and onto the top floor of the mansion. She dusted herself off and closed the secret doorway before turning to dash from the room. In her hurry, she almost didn't notice the man sitting in the chair next to her, and she nearly tripped over his leg. Once again, Tifa Lockheart was scared senseless.

"Agh!" she screamed, frustrated at the unexpected appearance of her quiet friend. Vincent's eyes remained trained on the contents of his book as he lifted an eyebrow. For all she knew, the gesture was directed at something he had read, but she admonished herself anyhow; in the last several hours, she had taught herself to know otherwise. She gave up all hope that he'd not noticed her embarrassing outburst and her clumsy stumble, being as observant as she'd known him to be.

She took a small step towards him and bent down to look at the cover of his book. There was no label that she could find on the front, so she shifted her eyes to the binder, still finding no label. A teasing grin played upon her face, and she decided to try one of his own tactics; she would ask him indirectly.

"That must be an interesting book," she ventured. "It sure has gotten a lot of your attention today."

Something she had said had caught his interest, for he lifted his eyes from the book to question her with his passive gaze, an unintentional, piercing scrutiny behind them.

Tifa's grin turned to a self-conscious frown. "What?"

Vincent closed his book and crossed his arms in front of him. "...Are you lacking for attention?"

Tifa felt her cheeks flush pink at the smirk she imagined was hiding behind that red collar of his. "No!" she exclaimed. "I mean..." she quieted her voice, "no. I'm fine..."

She trailed off, thinking that she must seem very childish to him. Tifa had a history of confidence in her actions, and a strong will. However, when left alone with Vincent, she could be made to feel foolish quite easily. It was a power that came naturally to him, and Yuffie could testify to it (though she _had_ been very childish). Tifa had always felt that she was under evaluation when around Vincent, whether it be in battle, or clinging to Cloud the morning before their descent into North Crater. Of course, her little crush had been apparent to everyone at that time, and if he saw her carrying on with Cloud right then, she was sure he would probably think as little of it still.

This was not something he did intentionally, but he _was _toying with her.

And he _was _enjoying it.

"You make a great deal of noise for one girl."

"Hmm?" She looked up at his sudden interruption of her thoughts. "Oh. I guess I do talk too much."

"I was referring to the elephant herding downstairs." He was smirking again.

Tifa remembered her recent use of the library as a jungle gym; the running, the jumping, and... the landing. "Ah...that was nothing. I'm good..." She continued to blush in embarrassment.

"...You were not re-arranging the furniture, then?"

She let out an insulted puff of air. "I'm sure, Vincent."

Vincent noticed the expression of hurt that was beginning to grow on her features as she stood there, unmoving, and staring at the stone patterns on the passageway. He decided then, that he had done enough in the way of teasing her. He simply nodded to himself and rose from his chair. "Come." His voice was soft, yet it left no room for opposition. "Let me take you to your room."

Tifa put her humiliation behind her and followed him across the hallway overlooking the ballroom, hoping that she wouldn't do anything else to embarrass herself. As they crossed the walkway, she looked back down at the entrance where she had come in, realizing he had closed the door she had left unmistakably open. If she had known she was walking into somebody's home, she might have been more courteous. "Oh!" she cried out, remembering one more detail. "I forgot about Mayonee! She-"

"...is behind the mansion." He finished her sentence with indifference, as if it was only a matter of fact, and not a show of his own hospitality.

"...Out back?" she questioned.

"In the stable."

"Oh." She lacked for anything more intelligent in the way of confirmation.

They continued walking together in awkward silence for a while, passing into the west wing of the house. The entire mansion looked different, she thought, in the light of the setting sun. The greenish tint on the walls became an even sicklier green, though she hadn't thought it at all possible. She had been so busy in her silent reverie that she almost bumped into Vincent when he stopped abruptly in front of her and simply stated, "We have arrived."

Tifa walked around to his side, and he stepped back to allow her passage into the room. She was willing to graciously accept his offer, until she recognized her surroundings. "Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"Isn't this _your _room?"

Vincent had been purposeful in his selection, but he couldn't help but step in after her to make a false inspection of the quarters, as if he was trying to confirm a possible error. "So it is," he concluded, straightening himself and turning to face her at the end of his brief mockery.

Tifa ignored the jest. "I can't stay here!" She placed one hand on her hip as the other flew into the air in an incredulous motion, falling to clap at her thigh. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"...Is it very important to you?" His voice was soft, suspicious, and not mocking in tone. Perhaps, he thought, Tifa might fear his return to his casket.

She sighed in frustration. "Vincent, I can't do that."

Silence.

"It's not really fair to you, you know."

More silence.

"Look. I can just make up this bed over here, and you can sleep across the hall from me..." She tilted her head as she said this, an expression on her face that told of the simplicity of the solution. She then turned on her heel and headed to the room across the hall where the safe was located. She was about to start making the bed for herself, when she heard his soft voice drifting to her from across the hallway.

"I would not trust the linens left to this building if I were you..."

Tifa went back out into the hall and met with Vincent's resolute gaze.

"You will sleep here tonight." It was said with the same intonation that he'd used before, when he'd told her to follow him. It was a command, rather than an offer.

She sighed in apparent defeat. "Where will you sleep, then?"

"...I have some reading I would like to finish."

'Clearly,' she thought to herself. 'He must really be into that book...'

"I will be across the hall." His sentence cut into her thoughts once again, but it put her somewhat at ease. It was information he hadn't needed to tell her, but had volunteered for her benefit. To her, it meant that she knew where to find him, in case she should need anything. And she appreciated it.

"Okay." She smiled a little, unknowingly, and turned to watch him as he walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, she began to give the place a closer examination, since she would be sleeping there that night. The candles had been lit, and their warmth countered the darkness of the room nicely. Thin, transparent, black curtains covered the view from the window; Tifa hadn't noticed them before, and she wondered if they had been drawn behind the heavier drapes when she'd previously visited the room.

The sunlight shone through the thinner curtains, casting eerie shadows over the room, one thin, horizontal line of orange stretching across the bed and down to the floor, directly beneath the window. Somehow, she no longer found it oppressive; the shadows seemed to contribute to the atmosphere set by the soft glow of the candles, and complimented the smells of spice and pine. Tifa was about to remove her boots when her stomach let out a fierce growl.

Vincent was an elusive man at times. He was ever-present and ever-loyal in battle, but it was a completely different story when she needed something to eat. Tifa searched the house high and low, but she found no trace of him. She'd expected to be able to detect the sound of his boots as well as she had earlier that day, since they were no longer on a crowded airship with a loud-mouthed captain and an even louder-mouthed ninja (but not quite as foul-mouthed). She'd had no such luck; she knew she wouldn't hear him if he wasn't moving, in any case. Her stomach growled even louder in protest, and she hoped she would find him soon.

After she had searched all areas of the house beyond the wing she had emerged from, she eventually gave up pursuing him. 'Maybe if I fall asleep, I'll forget about it...' she thought, not really believing it. She trudged up the staircase and had started on the left walkway towards her room, when she stopped dead in her tracks, staring straight ahead.

In front of her lay the conservatory; in the middle of the conservatory stood Vincent Valentine, his back to her, watching the plants in all of their still, silent glory.

'Aha. Right. I should have known.' Tifa narrowed her eyes in frustration. 'How very Vincent of you. How. Very. Vincent. Indeed.'

Now, she was in no way about to toss her ungrateful complaints at Vincent, no matter how she might crave venting on him. She might as well have yelled at a brick wall; though it would make her feel better, it wouldn't help the situation at all. He hadn't gone out of his way to inconvenience her; in fact, he'd done just the opposite by providing her a place to stay, and the nicest room in the house at that. At the very least, she could take joy in the fact that she'd finally found him.

"Vincent..." she called softly.

"...The refrigerator is in the room next door." His voice was soft, passive and disinterested, as always.

She frowned, realizing that she'd searched the entire house for something that lay across the hallway from the place she'd started from. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Since I left you to yourself." In short, he had been there the entire time she'd been searching for him. Something in his voice told her he wanted her to get on with her meal and leave him alone; she should have guessed as much. Then she realized something.

Vincent had always had an uncanny sense of hearing. There was no doubt in her mind that this trait of his, combined with his meditative state, had clued him in on the noises her stomach had made. And he'd known exactly what she'd been looking for the entire time upon her return. So, Vincent found amusement in her search, did he? Even that didn't annoy her so much as the fact that she'd tried to set herself up in the room where the appliance was located, and had failed to take notice of it when it was right in front of her.

She fought the urge to stomp her way across the hall. 'Haha. Very funny...'

Tifa bent down to open the small refrigerator in the next room, noticing the microwave that sat on the floor, also plugged into the wall. As she inspected the contents of the chilled box, she idly wondered if the mansion was powered by a generator, since it seemed Vincent mostly used candles to light his house. Inside the refrigerator, she found a large container of water, a bottle of opened wine, and a carton of milk. She raised her eyebrow slightly when she saw some teabags sitting in the door. There were also a couple of peaches, and some dry cereal. After thinking it over, she decided on the cereal.

She grabbed the box from the refrigerator, noting to herself that she would have to ask Vincent why he kept his cereal in the refrigerator, not to mention his teabags. She would have poured herself a bowl full, but she quickly realized that she was absent a bowl, not to mention a spoon. Rather than search the entire mansion to look for a bowl, when it might very well be in the next room, she decided to grab a peach instead, and she returned the cereal to its previous place. Unfortunately, she also wanted something to drink, though she hated to bother him when she figured he would like to have some time to himself.

"Vincent?" Tifa poked her head out from the doorway to the room. "Ah...do you by any chance have a glass?"

"My apologies; it seems the house is lacking in some aspects." He was still facing away from her. He made no move to aid her, so she assumed he had meant, 'Sorry, I have no glasses,' rather than, 'I apologize for not offering you one.'

"Well...what should I do about the milk?"

"...It _is_ in a carton." It was the first time she had heard a pronounced inflection from him that day.

"That..." she countered, mimicking said inflection, "is _quite _unlady-like." She received no answer, and after waiting around for a minute and a half, she returned to the room. Shrugging, she tossed back the carton of milk, and drank just enough to satisfy herself. She called to him, "Hey, have these peaches been washed?"

She heard nothing for a while, and then there was a faint, "They are clean," from around the corner. Satisfied, she took a bite of one, before realizing that she'd probably been swapping old spit with Vincent's milk carton, since he lived by his lonesome. She decided, in light of her situation, that it really was no big deal.

When she returned to the hallway, Tifa took some time to study Vincent's form. He hadn't moved from the spot he'd been in the entire time, and she was beginning to wonder what could hold his attention for so long. "I've got a question for you."

He waited.

She cleared her throat and went on. "Where do you buy your food? I mean, since there's no one here..."

He was slow in his reply, as if he was distracted by something. "...Rocket Town."

Tifa's face lit up. "Oh! So you see Cid and Shera a lot?"

"...No."

She tilted her head in question. "Why not?"

He remained silent.

"All right. You don't have to answer that one if you don't want to. I have just one more, though." She crossed her arms smugly, as if it was her turn to scrutinize his own habits, as if she had caught him in an oddity that she could exploit to her revenge. "Why do you keep your cereal and your tea bags in the refrigerator?"

"That room...could be cleaner." His voice was still soft, but he was beginning to grow weary of her questions; he hoped that a small bit of that might show through, so he wouldn't need to send her to bed himself.

Tifa made a face when she thought about cobwebs and dust mites near the food he ate, and she understood the reasoning behind his strange storage habits. "And...no mug for your tea?"

"I have one mug."

"Which you failed to mention." She frowned.

"...You had asked for a glass."

"Ah," she replied, in mock understanding, and true annoyance.

"It is getting late," he remarked at last. Tifa took this as a sign that he wanted to be left alone for a while, and she felt a bit ashamed that she'd barged in and stolen his solitude from him. She took the opportunity to traverse the rest of the hallway.

Tifa shut the door until only a crack of empty space was visible. She then walked around the room, snuffing out the small flames of the four candles that were opposite the bed. She removed her shoes, and placed her jacket on the left bedpost at the head of the pinewood frame. Then she climbed into Vincent's bed.

She eagerly buried herself beneath the soft, cool, satiny fabric, revelling in the way it felt against her bare legs; the sheets were still a bit chilly, despite being under the velour blankets all day, but she was able to heat them up in time. Eventually, the light left the sky; once she was comfortable, she sat up on her knees and turned to face the window, snuffing out the remaining two candles and leaving herself in the dark. She turned around again and immediately relaxed; as she was falling to the fluffy pillow below, she bumped her head on the windowsill.

Vincent was still in the conservatory, when a loud, "Ouch!" was brought to his attention. He walked briskly to Tifa's room to see what had happened; when he arrived there, he opened the door to reveal a slightly dazed Tifa rubbing her head and wincing. All Tifa could make out, other than his sillhouette against the dim light pouring over her from the hallway, were two red eyes glinting at her in the dark.

She jumped at the sight of him, shouting, "Vincent Valentine! Do you enjoy sneaking up on me?"

He stood there, unblinking, amused by the scene. To his credit, he managed not to laugh aloud as he turned back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. And to his credit, he left that crack of empty space between them.


	8. One More Time

**Flirting With Death, Chapter Seven:**

**One More Time**

By Darknightdestiny 

(A/N): Okay, I realize Chapter Six was kind of weird…like, some of the sentences even, dare I say, contradicted themselves the next second? Like, for example…oh, nevermind; I'll ruin the illusion of the magic of the thing.

And now I will answer some questions because I just love you all so much and you're all so deserving. Answer time, answer time!

1. The driving lesson went well.

2. A sconce is one of those elaborate candle or torch holders that can be found on the walls of a house. It's okay, I'm sure there are plenty of people who don't know what that is. And I don't own one of my own, though I plan on getting some for my new place when I move in.

3. I too would love to live in the Shinra Mansion.

4. Yes, they will get to kill something (next chapter, hooray!)

This chapter is quite long compared to the others. I added an incident I thought would be just perfect, and you guys can tell me what you think of it. I hope I did this well…this is the strange and awkward chapter where I try to make my previous ideas stick together and I hope this fic still makes sense. I've been running around in circles rather than taking this anywhere, but now it's going to start moving! Next chapter, they leave the mansion. And things will really start to pick up when they reach Wutai!

Now… Here we go!

Tifa awoke a bit groggy, the sun shining straight down into her eyes, for she happened to be resting just underneath that horizontal line of orange. That was quite uncomfortable for her, because she was still plagued with a headache due to her unfortunate accident. Her eyes fought the invasion of light with all their strength, but try as she might, she could not squint the pain away. In fact, it only made matters much worse when she released the hold she had on those muscles.

She groaned in the wake of the sunrise. Tifa was known to be cheery and resilient, but that was in the middle of the day. She was not a morning person. She rolled over on her side, one hand beneath her pillow. Looking down at the sheets she asked herself again why she had given in to taking Vincent's room for the night. He couldn't have stayed awake all night, could he have?

This room was certainly beautiful. Tifa tried to imagine what the rest of the house would look like if it had been fixed up like that. She wondered where in that mansion Vincent was. She didn't know if he would be coming to wake her, but she decided it would be best if she got up on her own before he got the chance.

But Tifa Lockheart did not want to get up. She was whining inwardly, something that seemed childish and that she would have never, ever done aloud, but she felt she had the right. Her head hurt badly, and she felt like she could stay in bed for weeks. For the second time in a row, she heard a throat being cleared behind her. 

She started a bit, but surprisingly she did not jump high into the air as she had been finding herself to do quite often as of late. She slowly turned over in all her disheveled glory to face the man she knew it to be. She gave him a pained look of desperation.

"Vincent?" Her voice was hoarse and whiny with lack of sleep.

"…I thought it best if I gave you some warning this time."

"Couldn't you have just knocked on the door?"

"…"

"…I guess not."

"…I did not want to disappoint you." He held two tablets out to her in the palm of his claw, and in his hand he held a mug of water."

"Ah…the mystery mug," she croaked. She took hold of the black mug, rimmed with gold and chilled with the cold water inside. She then reached for the pills in his claw, noticing the way the morning light played across its surface. She took them gratefully, tossing them back and taking the water down with them. "Thank you," she said, voice a little less cracked after the drink, and handing him the mug. 

"You are welcome." He stood and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Tifa called after him. "Uh…what time do I have to be up?"

"…I suppose you may rise whenever you wish. Mayonee has been fed and is ready to depart." And with that, he walked out the door.

Tifa sat upright in Vincent's bed, staring after him. She figured he was right and that it was time to be on her way. _Seems a shame to leave him here though, all alone. Wish I could do something to make it up to him. _She thought for a moment about Vincent's life and what it must be like. She had wondered what had happened to him all this time. He obviously never had any visitors, because he never even bothered to get himself bowls or glasses or anything. She giggled at the thought of Vincent downing his wine straight out of the bottle, as polite and as proper as he had always seemed to act around the rest of them. Then again, if he was all alone…

_And we all know that guys act differently when there are no ladies around. _

Tifa giggled again and hopped out of bed, her headache nearly gone. After pulling on her boots, she stepped back out into the hallway, her eyes scanning the wing for any sign of Vincent. He was nowhere to be seen, so she continued on to the other side of the house, searching the rest of the top story, minus the basement. She figured that if he had retreated to the basement, she should probably just leave him alone. When she didn't find him upstairs, she searched downstairs.

She searched every room in the house for him. She couldn't leave without saying goodbye, and the truth was…well, she wasn't quite ready to go yet. Being up late the night before had left her alone with her thoughts and when Tifa was left alone with her thoughts, she got ideas. Ever since she had stepped inside the mansion, she had been flooded with thoughts of everything that had gone on in that place before. She hadn't actually expected to run across Vincent, but she had thought about the possibility of him being in his coffin. She had hoped that he wasn't sleeping in that crypt; she'd figured he was most likely to have gone traveling instead. Being inside the mansion made her think more and more about his story.

Now, looking up and down the halls, her eyes finally resting on the scratch in the old piano, she thought to herself, _How can he possibly be living in this place with all of these memories? How can he dwell in one of the objects of his pain? He must be so lonely. But… why doesn't he ever visit Cid or Shera?_

The more she thought about Vincent's seclusion, the more she thought about how lonely his life must be. True, he wasn't sleeping in his coffin. But he was living in an abandoned house, much too big for only one person, in the middle of an abandoned town, refusing the opportunity of the company that resided directly on the other side of Mount Nibel. In that instant, Tifa's thoughts and feelings about the mansion were changed. He had made this place, with all of its terrible memories, his home. Perhaps he was still trying not to be a burden on those who cared for him? Tifa made her way around back, to the stable behind the mansion.

She was surprised to see Vincent already there, gently and silently stroking the feathers of a black chocobo. She walked over to where Mayonee was standing and pet her on the head asking, "Did you sleep well?" Mayonee warked happily in response and bobbed her head up and down, ruffling her feathers. Tifa glanced to her left at Vincent, who seemed to be lost in thought. She had so many questions to ask him; no one really knew much about him, since he avoided conversations that took a personal turn, keeping to himself as if he was afraid of being found out for something. She was almost afraid to go on with her initial idea, and now her hesitancy was getting the best of her. It was then that she made a quick decision that would change her life forever.

"Vincent, can I ask you for a favor?" Vincent shifted his gaze to another invisible dot in space, seeming to contemplate whether or not she really could.

"…I suppose that would depend on the favor."

"Ok. Well…can I stay here for just one more night?"

"…"

"If you don't want me to stay, I can understand." He hesitated before answering.

"I would hate to leave you alone in the mansion all day long."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"To Rocket Town…for supplies."

"Oh. Well, could I come with you?" She was expecting him to say "No," and then tell her that he would rather be alone, because misery loves company, but not when said company is bright and cheerful. He would leave, and she would leave, and they would split at Rocket Town, she going to Cid's house to visit and he going to get whatever he needed before returning to the mansion alone.

"It can wait."

_…He's going to stay with me? Well, no one would understand loneliness better than Vincent. _"Thanks," she said aloud. She turned her attention to the other chocobo, which was busily eating some greens as Vincent groomed it. The chocobo's black feathers reflected different colors in the sunlight, which was peaking through cracks in the wood. It reminded her of Vincent's hair. "What's its name?"

"…Dante."

"Boy or girl?"

"…Male."

"I like him."

"…" Vincent finished with Dante and turned to go back inside. Tifa just followed him as she was used to doing. There really wasn't anything else to do in the mansion, big as it was.

She stepped inside the mansion and looked around. Vincent was nowhere to be found again, as if he had just vanished into thin air. She complained to herself silently. _How exactly, is this any different from leaving me all alone?_

Tifa went back up to Vincent's room and threw herself backwards onto his bed. She hadn't wanted to leave before finding out more about him. She had never had time while they were busy fighting Shinra and Meteor, because they were always on the run and had other tasks at hand that required immediate attention. If she left, there was no guarantee that she would ever see him again. She would know where to look for him, but there was always a chance that something could happen to her while she was away, and Tifa was not the kind of person who left things unsaid. Unless, of course, she didn't know how to say them.

_I wish I had more time! What is it with me anyways?_

She had always thought she had trouble with words and tended to become nervous and uncertain when facing others. Still, she somehow always found the right thing to say when it came to her friends. She spent a lot of time thinking there, wondering what she would say to him, what questions she would ask. She was surprised when she awoke later, having drifted off in her thoughts. _Vincent, why did you have to get such a comfortable bed?_ She had no idea how much time she had wasted, and she would have to be leaving the next morning. She felt her stomach making noises again and went across the hallway to munch on dry cereal.

When she had returned, she pulled back the curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the time might be. The sun had already started to go down. "No way, you have got to be _kidding _me!" she exclaimed aloud. If she said nothing to Vincent tonight, she figured tomorrow would be out of the question for conversation; Vincent disliked talking most when he was traveling, for he was always listening or watching for things only he could detect. She had a gut instinct that told her if she just left him on his own a second time after Rocket Town without at least getting to know something about him that wasn't common information (such as his reasons for joining, Lucrecia and Hojo and all of that, but everybody knew that, at least whatever version he had told them), then she would regret it.

So she set out for the basement. Somehow, she knew he would be down there. There wasn't anything else to do in the house anyways except read, sleep or snack, and she'd already been to the refrigerator and he wasn't there. In fact, she never remembered Vincent eating much on their travels. Whatever the reason was, perhaps that was why he barely kept any food. _No wonder he's so thin. _

Tifa found Vincent in the library as before, reading a book on…painting? "Didn't know they kept that stuff in here," she said.

"I picked it up in town," he replied, not once taking his eyes from their place in the pages.

"Oh." She stood on the other side of the desk, wondering to herself when she was going to start this conversation and how in the world she was going to do it. Then, she had an idea. Without warning, she turned around and walked back down the aisle of books. Vincent didn't seem to notice. He had, however, and he noticed it even more when he heard the grating sound of wood bumping and scraping against wood, startling him into tearing his eyes from his book. He looked up from the object and down the hallway where he saw Tifa coming back, and dragging the other chair along with her.

She's going to want to sit? This could be awhile… 

Tifa settled the chair on the opposite side of the desk from where he was sitting and placed herself neatly into its cushions. Vincent kept his wary eyes on her. "Can I help you?" he asked, not rudely, but with suspicion.

"I just want to talk to you."

"…"

"You know, I love what you've done with the place."

"…"

"Your room is very comfortable. The candles add a nice touch."

"…"

"They smell lovely."

"…"

"Vincent, I feel like I'm talking to a wall."

"…What would you have me say?"

"I don't know! Something!" He just stared back at her and massaged his jaw through his cloak with his hand.

"I am not in the habit of speaking if there is nothing to say…" 

"If I ask you a question, will you answer it?" He shifted back in his seat and folded both arm and claw over his chest, sitting up straight. He pulled his right leg up and let his ankle rest on his left knee.

"I suppose…that will depend on the question."

"I'm not sure if it's too personal or not, but I'd really like to know."

"In that case, you will have to ask to find out." Tifa felt her face grow hot.

"Okay, here goes. Why…"

She was sure he was going to give her a simple two-word answer… 

"… do you live here?" she finished.

"…Why do I live here?" he reiterated, faking a look of confusion in his eyes. He knew what she meant by her question.

"I mean," she continued, starting to become extremely nervous, "why do you live in this place in particular? I mean it seems like it would be so lonely…" she trailed off, realizing that no matter what she said, it came back to the inevitable fact that he had no one to share his company with anyways and that this was a bad icebreaker to use with Vincent. But it was the only one that she could come up with.

Vincent waited for a while before answering her with another question, all the while watching her as she grew even more uncomfortable and started to fidget in her seat. "So you are asking me why I live alone?"

"Well…"

"…A lot of people live by themselves."

"But not in towns that are completely abandoned!" she shot out, surprising herself. Her heart beat faster as she continued, without even thinking about what she was saying. "This place is full of sadness! You're all alone here…I can't understand why you would want to come back here! Think of all the horrible things that happened here! Why…" _Uh-oh…_

"…"

"I'm so sorry…" she said, her eyes starting to become wet, proving that she really was. "I shouldn't have…I shouldn't have said that…I shouldn't have even brought it up. I'm so-"

"Do not be sorry."

"-sorry." Tifa just looked at him, her mouth partway open, trying not to cry. She thought he was going to be angry with her, or hurt by her. She still was sure she had hurt her friend, no matter whether or not he would ever show it. She was surprised and confused when he told her not to be sorry about it. She looked at him with a look that begged for an explanation, lest she burst. 

Vincent saw this and couldn't help but feel sorry for her; he had knowingly coaxed her outburst for he knew how much she hated the town and realized a long time before that she had stayed for his benefit and not her own. She could have been over the mountains and into Rocket Town by late night the day before if she had gone ahead. He was touched by her care for him, but he had still thought that she was wasting her time. He lowered his chin so that his hair fell over his face, hiding his delicate features from view.  "…The mansion is but an empty shell like myself. It seemed fitting that I remain within it." Tifa just stared at him, eyes wide as if he had just shot himself in the foot for fun. She could not believe he had just called himself…empty…

It was then that she realized that this place was not his home. It was merely a place where he lived, out of the way of the rest of the human population. Sure, he had made his living space livable. Sure, he had found himself something to do in his spare time. But the mansion was still haunted by his memories, and he probably still thought about them all the time, standing in the middle of the lab where the horrifying events of his life took place. It was as if there was nothing left for him, but to wait for death. This place was not his home- it was his grave.

"Vincent…I'm sorry. I-I'll go now." Tifa got up and left the room swiftly and silently, not even bothering to take the chair back to where she had found it. Vincent watched her leave and he sighed as he picked his book back up and tried to lose himself in it once again. He didn't understand why she had tried to get close. He had no need of friends; he couldn't share in the joys of friendship for he had forgotten how to be happy a long time ago. As soon as she had exited the lab, he could hear her footsteps break out into a run.

Tifa slumped down on the floor outside of the secret passageway. She knew Vincent had contempt for himself over his past, but she had had no idea of how little he thought of himself. She felt so badly; she had gone too far and now she was almost sorry that she had even tried. She was sure she had hurt him, and she thought she would be even more distressed if she hadn't, for she was truly afraid that he had forgotten how to feel. The way he talked…

Tifa stayed there- for how long, she did not know. She had cried herself to sleep over what she had hoped would be an insightful conversation. She had learned more than she had wanted to, and that scared her because she didn't know how she was going to help him. How could she? How could she not? She was thinking over this as she felt herself floating through the space between sleep and animation, and when she opened her eyes, she was back in Vincent's bed, staring at his ceiling. Sitting up and glancing behind her, she saw that it was dark outside. She figured that Vincent must have moved her to the bed, and noticed that he had lit the candles for her as well. She rubbed her eyes and winced at the irritation she found there. Her eyes started to water up again to flush out the dried and salty tears that had been left behind, and her heart plummeted as she realized she hadn't dreamed the whole thing up.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by a soft sound floating up to her room. The sound was echoing throughout the entire mansion and she knew it all too well. She hesitated; she was unsure of whether or not she could face him just yet, but the noise was too much for her to leave alone. At that moment she wanted more than anything to see what was causing that sweet, sweet noise…

Piano? 

Five minutes later found Tifa Lockheart standing in the doorway of the huge room with stained-glassed windows, wondering how on earth Vincent had managed to convince someone to travel all the way to Nibelheim to tune and replace the strings in that awful piano. Now, it sounded absolutely beautiful. She watched Vincent's face as he played, searching for any emotion. There were no distinguishable expressions that she could pick out, but his eyes seemed softened. It may have just been the fact that they were half-closed, but he appeared to be lost in some peaceful trance. His chest was moving up and down with even breaths, while his body rocked back and forth, from side to side as he shifted his posture over and over to better reach the correct keys. His arms were moving back and forth across the keys and his wrists were spinning the notes as a spider spins its web. His right hand was without his glove, his long, pale fingers stretching over the keys, racing over them as if they had a mind of their own. She listened intently and the corner of her slightly open mouth started to pull upwards as she heard the faint clacking sound of his metal digits on the ivory keys. The piece was just so…beautiful…

_Empty my foot, _Tifa thought. So, there was hope for him yet.Vincent, apparently lost in his music had just now caught her out of the corner of his eye. He immediately ceased his playing and lifted his head, looking like a child who had just been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Vincent, a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He quickly shifted his expression to one of expectance as if he was waiting for her to ask him something.

"Don't stop," she said, almost in a whisper, afraid that she would disturb the entire atmosphere with her presence. She tiptoed softly over to him as if any sound she might make would shatter the looming glass windows or bring the entire roof down over their heads. "That was beautiful. What is…the name?" Vincent stared at the piano, absently trailing the fingers of his right hand over the keys.

"…It has no name."

"You mean…you? You wrote that!?" She would have shouted this in surprise if not for her whole fear of upsetting the ambiance of the room. Instead it was a whispered shout.

"I haven't written it down."

_Wow. Vincent really…wow. _Tifa found herself with the sudden urge to run over and squeeze the life out of him, but she quickly repressed it. She knew he really wouldn't appreciate that, but she was just so impressed with him in that moment. She had no idea Vincent could be like that; it turns out she did learn something new about him after all. She was so excited. She wasn't going to let this go; in this instant she had made up her mind, and she was going to ask. She drew herself near to his side. "Vincent…"

"…You really should be wearing shoes out here. I would not wish for you to cut your foot on something…"

"I'm fine. Vincent, I'm going to ask another favor of you." 

"…I believe you already know what I am going to say."

"It depends on the favor, right?"

"…"

"Okay. Well, I was wondering…if you would come with me?"

"…I suppose that would depend on where you are going…"

"Well, first I'm going to Rocket Town to visit Cid and Shera…"

"…"

"…And then I'm going to ask to borrow the Tiny Bronco. I want to go visit Yuffie in Wutai."

"…You have visited the others already?"

"Yeah. I've kind of been on this journey. See…ever since Cloud left to go and find Aeris…"

"…"

"…I got really uncomfortable just staying at the bar all day. There's gotta be something more to life, you know?"

"…I can understand your feelings. You are still young…"

"Right! Anyways, I don't know if it was nostalgia or what, but I decided to take a journey…I don't know, a quest for…self-discovery. There's something missing, something important. I want to know what it is, I feel like I've lost my purpose in life. After AVALANCHE, and Meteor, and all of the events that took place five months ago, I just feel like everything's come to a close and there's nothing left to do. And I've got all these years and nothing to do with them. Anyways, Cid had said that the planet was really small from space, and so I figure that I must be really, really small. So, what is there for me to do, really? If I don't find something soon, I think I'm going to just…I don't know. I have no idea."

Vincent sat there, taking in everything she had said. Tifa was so young, and already she had lost her sense of purpose in life. "…Just because you are small, does not mean that you have no significance. You have accomplished things that many could never have…"

"See, that's what Nanaki said. Sort of. But I can't just sit around and do nothing."

"…I do see your point. However, it would seem to me that a quest for self-discovery would be best achieved by the self in question alone."

"Huh?"

"It would seem that you would have an easier time exploring your own feelings if you were not distracted by others around you."

"…I would feel much safer." While she was extremely strong and agile and an exceptionally talented fighter, being around Vincent made her feel…both insecure and secure at the same time. More like, insecure in her own adequacy and more secure in his…care? And she wasn't about to tell him she thought he needed this as much as she did. She wasn't ready for that yet.

"…"

"You haven't even called any of the others, have you?"

"What would lead you to believe this?"

"You said you didn't even visit Cid, and he lives right over the mountains! You go there all the time to stock up, remember?"

"…I did not say that I do not visit Cid."

"What? Yes, you did. I know you did, because I remember thinking how ridiculous it was that you had a friend who lived right on the other side of Mount Nibel that you didn't even talk to when you went into town."

"I did not say that-"

"Yes you did-"

"I merely did not reply."

"…Are you sure?"

"I am positive."

"Well, do you visit Cid?"

"…"

"Vincent!"

"…No. And now I remember…I did say that at one time…I only failed to mention why."

"Vincent! You _knew _that…! And what about why? That would be?"

"…"

"Vincent…"

"I was swift in correcting myself…"

"Vincent!"

"The reason is not important." Tifa just sighed in defeat. She silently wondered if sometimes he was difficult on purpose.

"Does this mean you won't come with me?" He hesitated.

"What is it that you would like me to say?"

"That you'll come with me."

"…You should get some sleep. You do not wish to be tired when we leave tomorrow morning."

"So you'll come?"

"I… am going to Rocket Town tomorrow."

"Please, Vincent. I would really like it if you came…"

"…"

"…Vincent?" Tifa asked, her voice almost faltering, sure that her hope would be shattered any second.

"Get some sleep. I will give you an answer in the morning." At that, Tifa forgot her manners and bent down, giving him a bear hug in all her excitement. As soon as she had done this, she realized her mistake and pulled away, her cheeks starting to flush. She would have been grateful that the house was dark inside, save for a few scattered candles, if it wasn't for the fact that she already knew Vincent had excellent night vision.

"…G-goodn-night," she stammered, and made her way around the corner and back up the stairs.

Tifa threw herself on the bed again, somehow hoping that if she buried her face in the pillow, it would take away the hot feeling in her face. She hadn't stopped to check Vincent's reaction before hiding her face earlier; she had placed her hand over her forehead, overshadowing her features, as she might if her headache had come back. She knew that whatever his decision, she was going to have to face him the next morning, and she was dreading the coming of dawn.

(A/N): Oh wow! That was long! Well…compared to the others. Especially that one conversation, but I tried to make Vincent as silent as possible through the lengthiness of it all. I hope it made sense; it took a while, but I loved every minute of it! Except, of course, for the parts where I got writer's block and wasn't sure how I was going to pull myself out of my confusion…and couldn't connect my ideas…yeah. Well, I appreciate all you guys reviewing my writing! Tell me what you thought. I'm hoping to really get things rolling in the next couple of chapters, oh and I apologize for the thought processing being just Tifa's again. I'm really going to work on that. Tomorrow is job hunting and I have to find a roommate so I can afford my place, and it's a really good deal, so I don't wanna lose it! And then classes start. I've always been pretty good with making time outside of school, so it probably won't be hard for me to keep writing at a steady pace, but if not…then that's the reason why. I won't leave you all hanging!


	9. Deadly Silence with a Gun

**Flirting With Death, Chapter Eight:**

**Deadly Silence with a Gun**

By Darknightdestiny 

The sky had turned from black, to a deep blue, and then to a light orange. A golden sheen was glimmering over the mountains and the earth was awakening once again with the sounds of life. Morning had come and the new day held a new meaning for all who rose to meet it.

Vincent watched all of this silently from a window in the safe-room. He knew the sight well, and he consciously knew of its beauty and significance, yet something inside him would not allow him to appreciate it for all that it was. He had been depressed for decades, knowing that he had become detached from his ability to identify with the simple joys of life through familiar tortures that he no longer wished to remember, yet could not help dwelling upon. He reasoned that it was just as well, because someone such as himself did not deserve to enjoy such things.

Vincent walked quietly across the hallway and opened the door as slowly as he could without making a sound. He stared at the familiar bundle lying across the room, all tangled in the sheets, with a slight curiosity. Her hair was spilled all over the bed, mixed in with the coverings surrounding her form, blanketing her shoulders and trailing off the side to the floor. She stirred, and as she did, he knocked softly on the wooden doorframe. 

Tifa slowly opened her eyes and looked around, trying to disentangle herself from the silken sheets that clung to her body. Her eyes met Vincent's, and then quickly shifted to the spacious wooden floor that lay to the left of her. He watched her in all her awkwardness, feeling a bit sorry for her as he realized that she was uncomfortable because of her hasty exit on the previous night, and then he spoke.

"I decided it would be best to wake you now…"

"Yeah, that's okay."

"If we want to make it to Rocket Town by late afternoon, we should get going early." Tifa finally looked up at Vincent, understanding that he was probably just as uncomfortable with the situation as she was, and that meandering around it was going to make no difference. She should just act like nothing happened at all. She smiled wide for him.

"Alright, that's a good idea, Vincent. I'll just pull on my boots and then I'll follow you on out."

"…You may eat something, if you like…" he said, the sentence becoming softer as he turned around and walked away.

Tifa did not realize that to Vincent, is really was as if nothing had happened. He was uncomfortable when people tried to get close to him, and especially when they touched him, but it was something he had come to expect when spending time in the company of others, and he had grown accustomed to guarding himself against it. He hadn't been quick enough the night before, but he did not blame Tifa for treating him the same as she would have treated any other of her friends. It was not her fault that he thought himself unfit to be touched by her hands.

Vincent approached the safe once again, and opened it effortlessly. From it, he drew his rifle, Death Penalty, and a sufficient amount of money. If he decided to accompany Tifa on her travels then it would be of use, and if not, then he would just use it to get a room at the Rocket Town Inn, as he sometimes did before traveling back to Nibelheim. Other times he would continue on through the night…

He stopped outside the room where Tifa was waiting for him, staring oddly at the ceiling as if she was in the middle of a daydream. As soon as she saw him, however, she snapped right back to reality and moved to the side to let him pass through. As he was passing by, he said almost inaudibly, "Were you going to eat something?"

"Nah, I'm not really hungry right now," she replied, "but I would like to fill up my water bottle. Do you know if that stream at the base of the slopes is still um…safe? To drink from?"

"It is."

"Good, I'll just take care of it when we get there then. I'm ready when you are!"

Vincent walked down the hallway and descended the stairs before exiting the lobby. Tifa followed, humming to herself once they reached the sunlight, breathing the fresh air in and taking in everything around her. She hadn't been too pleased with the dismal state the town was in when she arrived, but she was glad to get out of the stuffy mansion; she couldn't spend all day in Vincent's room, no matter how nice it seemed. She could get bored so easily in that place! He led her out to the back yard where the stables were. Inside, they readied their chocobos, and then they were off.

Vincent rode swiftly up the path, stopping as it branched off into two sections, a trail leading off into the forest, and a trail leading up the mountain slopes. Tifa hopped off of Mayonee and pulled her water bottle from her saddle pack. She filled it to the rim with cool water from the stream, which was running around the rocks beneath the stone pathway, and then capped it off. She splashed some of the cold water on her face, which served to better wake her and refresh her spirits. She looked up at Vincent, but he was staring up the path that they were going to take up into the mountains. 

"I need a bath. You think Cid would let me use his shower?"

"There is another water source nearby…" He said, not moving his eyes from the cliffs.

Tifa began to blush profusely. "That's alright…I guess it can wait." She grinned. "I'm ready to go now."

Vincent let Tifa lead the way through the mountains, knowing that he could see far ahead of her and still get a good shot at anything that might sneak up from behind. She hummed to herself again, trying to keep herself amused; at the moment they had reached the pathway leading up the rocky surface, he had ceased talking. She grew edgy at the eerie silence behind her; Dante was just as silent as his master, and she could no longer tell that he was even there anymore. Fearing that something would attack and he wouldn't be there, she looked over her shoulder to check; Vincent was still there.

Vincent locked eyes with her as she looked back over her shoulder. She kept doing this periodically; this was beginning to amuse him. She was quite capable of handling herself, as long as they weren't outnumbered, yet she still kept on making sure that he hadn't disappeared. Why would someone as strong-willed as Tifa be afraid to find herself alone? He wondered if maybe it had something to do with the place they were in. Maybe she was unsettled because it seemed nothing good ever came from being in those mountains. Then again, she had always traveled them as a little girl and knew her way through by heart. But that was back when the monsters had just begun to appear…

Vincent was pulled from his thought as he detected a soft and quick sound, like a skittering of feet. He drew his weapon and stopped Dante, then dismounted in order to get a better look around. Tifa did not even notice this, but he swiftly glided over and stilled Mayonee by her reins. He received a questioning glance from Tifa; then she noticed he had his weapon drawn. He put one finger up to his covered mouth and motioned for her to get down. The footsteps were getting closer, and now Tifa began to hear them as well.

They sounded like the oncoming of thousands of crawling insects…

Tifa readied herself and got into a fighting stance. Vincent stood slightly ahead of her and to her right and facing forward and a bit to the left of her, where the sound was coming from; he gave her a quick peek over his shoulder to make sure she was ready and then told her softly, "Send Mayonee home." He gave Dante a sharp but muffled strike to the hindquarters, and the black chocobo raced off into the distance, back to the Shin-Ra Mansion. Tifa realized that if they were going to be in for a long battle, it was best to do so. She grabbed her pack; then she pulled Mayonee's head down to hers and whispered a command in her ear, and Vincent watched the bird speed away. 

As soon as the birds had left their sight, which was not long, the enemies filed in from the left, and moved around the two, forming a circle. Vincent and Tifa were now surrounded by seven kyuvilduns'. The giant bug-like creatures were making strange sounds as they moved, like crickets at night; to Tifa, it sounded like jeering. She backed up against Vincent, and they faced the circle back-to-back, waiting for one of the enemies to jump in and attack. It would be much easier if one of them would make the first move, Tifa thought; if one were to leave the center of the ring, it would put the other in a tighter ring, all by themselves.

She had momentarily forgotten that Vincent was carrying a gun.

Vincent raised Death Penalty and shot one of the kyuvilduns' in-between the eyes. At that, four of the creatures started to jump in their direction, trying to latch onto them and attack with their sharp mandibles while the other three moved about, not quite circling, but staying nearby in the event they were needed. The two humans kept dodging the onslaught, trying to keep from losing as much blood as possible. 'Quite intelligent after all,' Vincent mused to himself. He leaned back into Tifa's ear and simply stated, "Cover me," and she got his meaning; she lashed out at the two attacking creatures from her side, trying to keep them off his back while he took out the other two advancing on him with his rifle. 

Tifa snapped the outer shell of one of the creatures with a hard kick to its side. The shell's cracked surface had shifted, cutting the back of the animal. She then flipped it over so that it would not be able to move, and left it to bleed to death while she rushed over to the other one; it was headed towards Vincent, who was busy making a gooey paste out of the by-standing arthropods with his sharp-shooting. She lunged forward onto her hands and launched herself over the kyuvildun, placing herself in its way. It jumped at her, expecting her to dodge it and let it pull Vincent down; instead, as soon as it was close enough, her leg shot out and hit it in the gut, sending it sprawling backwards. Just as it had gotten to its feet, it fell again in cue with the shot of Vincent's gun, and she stepped back, exhausted…and right into something firm and warm.

She froze and looked up. Vincent was staring down into her face, with a funny glint in his eyes. She shifted uncomfortably at this, wondering what he was up to.

"…Are you tired already?"

She hesitated to answer. Had it been that obvious? "No," she said, "I think I'll be just fine. We should keep on going."

He nodded and turned away, towards the bridge. He was interested now; Tifa had always been a good fighter, but he could still hear her labored breathing from several yards ahead of her. She must have had no practice in her time since Meteor, staying in…Midgar? He noticed for the first time that Tifa had told him enough about what she was doing, but nothing about what her life had been like in the past five months, even though she had been curious about his. She probably thought that he didn't care; he made a mental note to ask her sometime. Though he did not ask personal questions much, he did get some amusement at least, if not any enjoyment, out of surprising people once in a while.

He slowed his pace so that Tifa could catch up, and they continued across the bridge to the cave awaiting them at the other side. As soon as they reached the end of the bridge, Tifa looked back around, seeing how far they'd come already. That is when she heard two shots fire out, and then there was a loud rush of wind beside her right ear. Looking over the bridge, she saw a sonic speed falling to its death, its left wing in a tattered mess. She whirled back around to see Vincent holstering his rifle, his back turned to her. She had heard the shot before she had even detected the enemy! But of course, this was Vincent, and she had come to expect over the time she had spent with him previously, that she would always be a bit behind when it came to his skill. Everyone had a nickname for Vincent; she thought she might just start calling him "Deadly Silence with a Gun." Then again, she knew that he had distaste for all of his nicknames, even though she thought this one was pretty cool. 

Once they had gotten into the cave, Vincent made his way over to the farthest side of the mess of tubes, to the very first one, and motioned for Tifa to follow. He decided to go first, just in case there was something waiting for them down below, though from what he could see, there was nothing there. Tifa did not hesitate to follow as quickly as she could, giving him only a few seconds before her. When she landed below, she flew forward, but Vincent caught her above her wrists and pulled her back up, steadying her on the uneven rocks. He listened intently for anything that might be amiss, but he caught nothing. They exited the cave with Tifa close on Vincent's heels, and together, they set off for Rocket Town.

(A/N): Sorry I took so long to do this chapter! Lately I've had a LOT of course work, but also I've been doing art again, which I let go for a couple months or so. But I finished a cool Vincent sketch! (Yay!) If you want to see it, go to my Web link in my profile page. It should be posted up in my fanart section sometime between 1:45 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. on Sunday..uh…August 31. So whenever this site updates, you'll see this, and maybe you'll want to check it out. This is one of the few pieces I'm actually proud of and it would make me feel good 'cause no one ever visits my site!  ^^;

Anyways, like always, let me know what you did or didn't like or if you've given up on it because I took a whole week or so to update ("ack"). Also let me know what you thought of the fight scene…I've never written romance OR action before, so I'm not sure if it was okay. I had to go and reference my game for the names of the monsters, 'cause I didn't know 'em, and I felt bad for chapter 3 (post 4) where I had called the monsters in the battle arena "smaller dragons," just because their attack was "dragon's breath".


	10. To Go or Stay

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 9:**

**To Go or Stay**

By Darknightdestiny 

It was late night as they reached the sleepy town where Cid and Shera lived; it had taken much longer than anticipated when traveling without their chocobos present. The absence of bright city lights left the area well lit by the moon and the stars, and the only visible light coming from the town itself was that of the inn. Tifa gazed up at Vincent as he paused to look around at the town entrance.

"What do you think we should do? It doesn't look like anyone's awake."

Vincent still did not speak, seemingly lost in thought. His eyes darted busily from house to house, searching out every shadowed wall and dark corner. His hand made its way to where his gun hang limply by his side, and then dropped as soon as it had risen when a raccoon went flying out of the shadows and across the ground toward the nearby bushes. 

Tifa's mouth quirked up into a smile. "…You're sure on edge tonight. Vincent?" He turned to face her.

"…You ought not to let your guard down so readily."

"…Okay, that's fine. But what do you want to do now?"

Vincent looked around the town once more, then up to Cid's waiting doorway. "…I do not believe that we should wake them…"

"Then…what?"

"…This way." 

Vincent turned away and began walking towards the inn. Tifa began to follow him after a moment's hesitation, hobbling over the uneven dirt ground. She trailed behind him all the way up to the entrance where he opened the door and stood inside, holding it open for her. She stepped casually around him; though feeling a bit uncomfortable at his act of chivalry, she knew Vincent had always been a gentleman in his own strange way, so she shrugged it off.

Once inside the inn, Vincent strode slowly over to the counter and began the task of ordering their rooms. Tifa walked over to one of the freestanding chairs and sat down to wait. Her head bobbed up and down as she tried to keep from dozing off; she was extremely tired from their trek across the meadows leading down from the mountains, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But first she had to get a shower, and then she would have to wait for her hair to dry. She realized she probably would not get into bed for at least another hour, at the least.

"Hey, hey! Welcome to the Rocket Town Inn! What can I do for ya?" said the man at the desk to the dark character in front of him.

Vincent kept his head down, his hair covering his face and replied softly, "I would take two rooms for one night, if you please." His presence was making him seem even more shady, but he supposed it was better than approaching the man openly with his crimson irises peeking out over his cloak. Usually when he did that, he couldn't easily conduct any sort of business because the person he was talking to wouldn't even look him in the face. 

"Well, you're lucky you got here before someone else did, 'cause I only got one room left." The man gestured with his head over to Tifa, who looked as if she was about ready to fall right out of her chair. "She with you?"

"…She is."

"Hmmm. Dunno why you'd need two rooms anyway…" said the man, before trailing off into some strange mumbling sound all the while looking at the sleepy-eyed girl. Then he looked back to Vincent with a goofy grin plastered onto his face and exclaimed, "Well, I'm sure you can manage, right? It's the last one anyhow, and it doesn't look like you're gonna be gettin' anywhere else tonight."

"…No, I don't suppose we will…" The man was really starting to grate on Vincent's nerves.

"Well then. Here ya go," he said, handing Vincent a key. "It's twin beds, 'sa last one on the left. Sweet dreams, buddy…hey. You'd better get that li'l lady to bed- looks like she's 'bout ready to spend the night right there in my chair!"

"…Thank you," Vincent said, and walked back to where Tifa was slumped in the chair, her neck bent in an uncomfortable way as her head rested against the wall.

Vincent looked at the poor girl with something akin to pity in his eyes, realizing that she was completely beat from the journey earlier that day. First there was the fight, from which he could tell she hadn't been practicing much recently. Then, they had walked all the rest of the way to Rocket Town by foot, while her breathing grew even more labored with each mile. Vincent had already been going slower than he normally would have gone through that area, just so that Tifa could keep up with him. They hadn't stopped because they knew they had to get within the vicinity of the town's lights to where Vincent could see, before dark set in. When they had been close enough, the sky was already darkened and Tifa was so tired that she didn't hesitate to ask more than once, "How far off are they?" Vincent ventured that she hadn't traveled on foot even once since their journeys together had ended five months ago. 

"…Tifa. Tifa, wake up."

"Hmmmmmm?"

"…Tifa… it is time to go upstairs."

"Mmm? No, no." She lazily waved him off with her hand. "I'm fine, I just…" she yawned, "…I just need to sleep."

"There is a bed waiting for you upstairs."

"I don't know about that. I don't think I can make it. Uhh…just leave me here, I'm good."

"…You are going to feel awful in the morning if you remain in that position. If you come upstairs, you will sleep much better…"

"Really? Wait… what?" Her head fell down and her chin hit her chest. Vincent sighed inwardly and leaned forward, placing his right hand on her shoulder. He began to shake her gently.

"Tifa…" he called softly.

"Mmmm."

"…Tifa!" It was a whispered shout; he rested his clawed hand under her chin and lifted her face up, the light from the slow-turning ceiling fan hitting her closed lids, forcing her to shut her eyes even tighter.

"…Vincent…" she murmured, "never knew you could be so gentle." And then her head lolled to the side, off of his hand and back down to her chest.

Vincent was unsure whether or not she was complimenting him, insulting him, or attempting a sleep-deprived form of sarcasm in light of the fan incident. Whatever it was, she probably wouldn't remember it the next morning, so he didn't need to worry about it. Either way, she stopped responding to his soft tugging and he realized that if she was going to get upstairs that night, he was going to have to carry her there. 

Naturally, he had already made up his mind that he was not about to leave her down there all by herself, her body bent in all sorts of unnatural positions, and with that kook behind the counter that he knew nothing about. He bent down on one knee and eased her out of the chair, his claw wrapped around her legs and his hand behind her back and under her arms. He quietly and effortlessly pulled her down onto his thigh and rose up again with her in his arms. As he headed up the stairway, the man behind the counter gave him a knowing smirk, or at least what he had meant to be a knowing smirk. Little did he know that he had no idea whatsoever about anything having to do with the two travelers and their relationship with each other. 

They reached the room moments later, Tifa beginning to mumble drink mixes in her sleep, her voice rising and falling as she projected "orders" into his chest. Somehow, he managed to get the key into the lock and turned without letting her go, and he was able to get them both into the room safely. He carried her over to one of the beds and set her down gently before turning to the other bed and pulling down the covers. When the second bed was ready, he turned back to her, picking her up again and setting her into the warm sheets, folding them up over her shoulders. As soon as Tifa had gotten comfortable, her murmuring stopped. He then set about turning down his own bed.

Vincent draped his cloak over the chair in the corner and removed his holster, setting that into the chair as well. He propped Death Penalty up against the wall next to his bed, and removed the Quicksilver from his pack. He clicked the safety on, and then hid the gun beneath his pillow before laying down to rest. 

Tifa awoke bright and early the next morning to the sound of running water. She knew that meant that Vincent was in the shower and that she had a little bit of time left before it was her turn, depending on how long he had already been in there. She was unsure of how long they had before they had to check out of the inn and she also didn't know what she was going to end up doing that day. She assumed it would all depend on whether or not Vincent decided to go with her or stay in Nibelheim, though she hoped he would go with her. It was kind of hard to start an adventure when there was nothing to do, and it was also kind of hard for one to find themselves when there were no circumstances through which to do it. But something told her that he was feeling just as alone and empty as she was, probably more so. Who knew? Maybe they could help each other.

Tifa looked around the room, noticing the dresser, the nightstands, and the patterns on the bedspreads. It was a nicely furnished room; it was too bad that she had no idea how she ended up there. The details of the night before were a bit fuzzy still, but she was guessing Vincent had helped her up to the room, because she had only remembered zonking out… 'Ah…wait a minute…'

She continued to look around the room. She saw Death Penalty, Vincent's cape…gun holster. She then realized that they had shared the same room the night before. But then, she remembered that she had heard the shower running after all, and so she should have gathered that. She was only partially awake before, and it was a wonder she did not question to herself why the shower had been running…

'Oh, wait…this means Vincent's in the next room…naked. I- eep!'

She would have eeped aloud, had she not prided herself in being the more mature out of the two girls left on the team. It should not have been a big deal at all; they had all traveled together for a long time and stayed in inns together the world over. It just seemed a foreign concept to her because during their travels, the girls had always stayed in a separate room and for obvious reasons. And no one really knew Vincent that well anyways…

'So this means I have an older, naked man just a few feet away from me. This is wonderful; Dad's turning over and over in his grave right about now. Not like it means anything. Not like Vincent cares about _that_… Not like _I _care, either! Oh…enough of this. Savor whatever sleep I have left…I can do all the thinking I want later.'

She buried her face in her pillow, attempting to drift off into blissful sleep once again. No sooner had she just reached the point of slumber than she heard a rustling next to her ear, and she opened her eyes to see one cloaked Vincent Valentine standing over her. He was looking down at her as if he knew she had been awake and was supposed to be getting ready all that time, a bit curious as to why she hadn't. 

"That was quick," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm not one to waste time." 

Tifa felt a sort of guilt set in, but she shrugged it away; she had been tired, and she had wanted to rest. She didn't see anything wrong with that. Still, being around Vincent had always been a humbling experience when it came to fighting and many other things as well. It was as if every time she was around him, she felt like she was doing something incorrectly; skill-wise, manner-wise, socially or whatever the case, she would always feel like she fell short, making everything into an involuntary competition. And the worst part was that she could never be even the slightest bit angry towards him for it because it just came naturally for him. "Right. Well, I get the shower now, right? What do you want to do after that?"

"…We will talk about that when you have finished."

"Alright." And with that, she headed off to the shower.

Vincent started to make the beds, and then seated himself on the edge of the one that had been his during the night. He removed his pistol from underneath the pillow and replaced it within his bag. He then lay back upon the made bed, his hands folded behind his head, metal and flesh alike. He listened to the constant running of the shower in the next room and felt himself oddly relaxed by it.

As he lay there, he began to think about his current situation and Tifa's proposition. As far as he could figure out, she didn't even know what she was looking for, yet it seemed that she wasn't going to quit until she found whatever it was. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but it couldn't hurt to help her find something to live for. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time, and even if he had, he was already pretty certain that he wouldn't have deserved whatever distraction it happened to be. After all, she had seemed pretty rusty with her skills, and even if the monster population was starting to thin, she may still get into a nasty scrape or two. And he couldn't just leave her to fend for herself against those creatures, especially when some of them tended to hunt in packs.

He was lost in thought, weighing the possible consequences of either decision, when he finally realized at some point that he could no longer hear the running water. Soon after he realized this, Tifa came out of the bathroom, a towel draped over her back, between her blanketing hair and her shirt. She sat down on the bed opposite his. 

"So. Will you be going back to Nibelheim later today?"

"…I do not believe I will go back there just yet."

"Well…before you do go, would you at least visit Cid and Shera with me? I'm sure they would love to see you, no matter what you might think the case is."

Vincent had already decided to go on with her, but obviously she had assumed he was planning on returning to the mansion before the day's end. Just this once, he would humor her. "Very well."

(A/N): Hey, thank you to everyone who still keeps up with this story. It gets tough with all the extra work I get now. I'll try to update more than once a week though from now on. I think I'm starting to get a better idea of where I'm going to take this from here on out and how I'm going to bend the story to get there.

Something else for you guys…I don't know how many of you do art also, but I just moved my site to Angelfire, and I'm wanting to put more art up in my fanart section (I'm really into it since I started working with this new paint program- yeah, I ran that Vincent sketch through Paintshop Pro. I'll probably run it through again later and touch it up some more, but for now it's my home page's new mascot- hooray!), and all I have is stuff by me. So if anyone wants me to post their artwork on my site, feel free to send it to my e-mail (both links are in my profile page) with whatever screen name and e-mail address or web site you'd like me to link you to. And I'm pending on acceptance into the "Silence- Vincent Valentine Web ring", so if the site gets accepted, then the art will be virtually linked with the rest of the ring- how cool is that?

Alrighty, well…until the next update. Thanks to everyone for their reviews!


	11. Comforting Darkness

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 10:**

**Comforting Darkness**

By Darknightdestiny 

They went straight to Cid and Shera's house after leaving the inn. The sunlight was extremely bright that morning, beating down on all the town members going about their daily activities. Vincent squinted his eyes at the glare, uncomfortable with the growing heat. Every once in a while, a cool breeze would blow in from the mountains, easing his trouble, but he was still extremely sensitive to the conditions after being locked away for so long; because of this, he had avoided the sunlight as much as he could after waking, and it just made things all the more difficult now.

Tifa, on the other hand, was enjoying the warmth of the rays on her skin, reveling in her newfound glow. Her eyes darted about the place, less suspiciously than Vincent's; she was more interested in taking in everything around her. No matter what life threw at her, Tifa just seemed to have that amazingly rare ability to find joy in the simplest of things. After all, that is what one has to do when there isn't much else to be happy about, and Tifa had been perfecting that talent since her mother died.

When they reached the door to Cid's house, Vincent stepped on ahead, but paused at the door and stepped aside. Tifa looked at him strangely, as he obviously wanted her to be the one to knock. She just shrugged her shoulders and strolled up to the doorway, letting her hand fall onto the wood three times. She turned her head to face Vincent.

"You really don't like them, do you?"

"…"

"Vincent…"

"…That is not the case. I only-"

And the door opened. Tifa found herself face to face with Cid. He was the same as ever, and was everything she was expecting him to be. While she had been staying in Midgar, she had tried her best to keep in touch with everyone by phone system, and Cid had been no exception. And every time he had answered, he had greeted her with his usual, "How the f&^* are you doin'!?" which was proof that he would never change. Some of the members of AVALANCHE had guessed Cid's language and temper was the result of ShinRa's treatment of him and his dream. But apparently, that wasn't true, because he still had that same dangerous spark. Even now, he had a cigarette gracing his thin lips. 

"Tifa! How the- you!!" Cid turned to Vincent mid-embrace and stared. "Why the h&*% haven't you called?!" Vincent just stared off to the side, eyes softened with apparent disinterest. "You know, you were the only one who didn't keep in touch! D%**#&, why?!" 

"…"

"Oh, fer cryin' out loud…what the h&*%, you can tell me later. And you're gonna!" He sighed. "Come on in, both of you."

Tifa followed Cid into the house, Vincent gliding in behind her. Tifa looked around the house; everything was exactly as she had remembered it. The broken down car was still in the room off to her right, and there was a kettle on the stove, not yet heated, as if it had been waiting for someone- anyone- to arrive. But something was missing.

"Hey, Cid," Tifa questioned, "Where's Shera?"

"Oh, her," he stated, rather casually. "She's sleeping in the bedroom."

"Hmmm…now that's something I didn't expect. Shera stays in bed while you tend to the guests." Tifa giggled as a young girl in spite of her age.

"Hardee har har. Actually," Cid continued, lost in thought, "Shera's been kind of sick lately."

"Sick? Oh no, Cid. What's wrong with her?"

"Psssh…pipe down. Ain't nothin' wrong with her. She's just fine. Just fine!"

"Cid…how do you know that?"

Cid paused and looked back at her, sheepishly. "I sorta…"

"Yes?"

A tinge of pink crept into the man's sunkissed face. He started again, fumbling for words. "I sorta…," he coughed and then sped up the pace of his words, "sorta…ahem…got-her-pregnant," he finished, slurring the last three words all together in a mumbling voice.

"Cid! You did? Oh, Cid!" Tifa exclaimed happily, her hands clasped together.

"Don't go getting' yer panties in a bunch! Yeah, I did. And now, I gotta learn to deal with it. F&*%^$ gettinn' up in the middle of the night to go and fetch her some of her s&*^. Don't know what the h$** she wants with all of them strange ingredient thingies anyway," he said, scratching the back of his head with one hand, hanging the other loosely at his side.

"Cid, this is so wonderful! Oh, congratulations!" Tifa burst forward, throwing her arms about the man's neck.

"Oh, geez. Just what I needed."

She backed up, smiling and then turned to Vincent. "Did you hear that? Cid and Shera are going to have a baby!"

"I did."

"Isn't that wonderful?"

"…Indeed. My congratulations, Cid."

"Yeah, thanks, Vince. You ain't half bad. I'm gonna go and wake Shera up now."

"You want to wake her?" Tifa asked.

"Sure. I mean, I know she wanted to sleep earlier, but she wouldn't wanna miss this. She ain't seen you guys in months!" Cid headed out of the dining area, to a room somewhere on the far left side of the house. Tifa turned and looked at Vincent, who was off in the corner to the right of the stove. He looked back at her for a moment, then marveled at one of the walls, and so she sat down at one of the chairs in the center of the room.

Vincent had been expecting Tifa to say something to him, as she had always been the type to do, but after a while she had gotten the idea that sometimes it was best to just leave Vincent alone.

But Vincent did not want to be alone. Not just yet, no…that would come later. But right now, he wanted to ask her some questions, and so he, much to her surprise, started the conversation.

"Tifa." She barely heard it, his voice was so soft and was aimed at the ground.

"Hmmm?" She looked at him with a bit of surprise, mixed with curiosity.

He hesitated. He hadn't ever been one to initiate conversations, and even less so ever since he woke up. He somehow found the words he had been searching for. "…What have you been doing these past five months?"

"Oh. Well…I have a new bar, in Sector Three…of New Midgar." She watched his face for any reaction, but there seemed to be none, so she continued on. "I've been working there with two nice people- a brother and sister- and I've made a pretty good living off of it." Vincent continued to watch her, as if expecting more than that. "…And that's it," she finished, removing any doubts he might have had.

It was a while before he spoke again, and when he did, it was not to comment, but to ask another question. "Why did you leave?"

She frowned to herself. "I thought I had told you, but maybe not. Alright, here goes…I was sitting at the bar one day-"

"No."

"What?"

"There is another reason you left."

"What makes you say that?"

"You are not the type of woman to run from boredom. You must know why you left Midgar."

"I don't really know why I left…I left to figure out why I left, and…you're making my head spin. What makes you think I wouldn't leave because I was bored?"

"…Do not tell me…" he played with the notion, "…that in all of your experience in cheering up others, you have not found the ability to cheer yourself up?"

"Who says I'm sad?"

"I do."

"Well, I'm not. I'm perfectly fine, I always have been."

"…" Vincent stared past her at a sleepy-eyed Shera who had just come hobbling into the room. The woman's bleary focus finally cleared and settled on the girl in front of her, then on the man in the corner to her right.

"…Hey," she cooed sleepily as she rubbed her eyes. "You guys want some tea?"

"I can make it," said Tifa. "You just sit down and relax."

"Ah…it's not like I can't move yet. I'm just a little dizzy lately…hey, you know what would be good right now? I know…" she mused as she wandered off to get Cid, who had just gone off to grab some whiskey. Cid always grabbed whiskey when Shera made tea…he preferred it to milk on all occasions.

Minutes later, Cid came waltzing out into the dining area, headed straight for the door. 

"Where are you going?" asked Tifa.

He looked back at her and rolled his eyes. "F*&^#$' cravings…" and cut himself off before he said anything he might regret later and strode out the front door, asserting his role as the dominant force in the house with a muffled stream of curses.

Shera came back out into the room to meet the other two and asked, "Will you be staying here tonight?"

"Um…" Tifa shifted. "We were actually going to ask Cid a favor…do you think," she dug the toe of her boot into the floor, "that Cid would let us borrow the Tiny Bronco?"

"I don't see why not…"

"Really?" Tifa was shocked.

"We don't really use it. Everything we need is right here in this town. Before you all blasted into our lives, it just sat out there in the backyard, more of a showpiece than an actual convenience. But since it's you two, I don't think it'd be so had for him to part with it this time. Of course, if anything happened to it…"

"Gotcha."

Shera smiled. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you what brings the two of you out here."

"Search for adventure?" Tifa smiled back, knowing full well that Vincent was right when he said she was unhappy and she really had just wanted to get away. She hated it when he was right.

"But what on earth brought you two out here together?"

Vincent surprised both of them when he spoke up. "Tifa was passing through Nibelheim. I…became bored with such a sedentary life, and so I decided I would come along."

Shera stared at him for a while, then burst out giggling. "You kids…"

Vincent looked exceedingly uncomfortable at the thought of himself as a "kid", but he tried to contain his annoyance. Shera walked back into the rest of the house, calling out, "Tifa, you can stay with me tonight. Vincent can take my old room…Cid will just have to stay on the couch." She snickered to herself some more, knowing how he would probably react, even though had he been there, he would have made the same suggestion. "Vincent, you can follow me. I'll make your room up."

It was later that night, after a wonderful dinner prepared by Shera with the help of Tifa, that Vincent retreated to his room. He had watched with amusement as Tifa had insisted on doing everything she could, on account of Shera's occasional bouts of nausea, hardly letting the poor woman do anything at all in her own kitchen. That was so like Tifa, to always keep herself busy…to always help others…

To drown her own misery in her attempts to make everyone else around her happy.

He knew her attempts all too well, for she had tried quite a few times during their tangles with Sephiroth to cheer him up as well…only he never let her. This, he realized, had been the closest they'd ever gotten to each other since they'd met. In fact, this was the closest he had gotten to anyone since he had woken up.

True, it had unnerved him a bit at first, but he had grown accustomed to her nature in only a couple of days, whereas when he first met her, he had tried his best to ignore it. When he had woken up, he had wanted to be alone; he had wanted to curl up and rot away, or just simply disappear, and he had no intentions of letting anyone into his world of suffering. But living alone for five months after that had begun to wear on him. He was still human, after all, and humans are social creatures by nature. He had known back then that he was destined to be without friends, to live alone and in shame and misery for the rest of his days, unworthy of contact with the human world. But she had tried to get him to talk at times, and finally, after he had pushed her away on so many occasions, she had finally given up.

But the truth was, he had wanted to comfort her then. But he would not, because he did not want to plague anyone else with his burdens; they were his to bear alone. But he had seen so much of himself in her. He had always distracted himself with his new task, and when it was over, there was nothing left for him. He imagined that was what she must have been feeling, because he had watched her spend her time and her energy trying to comfort her childhood friend, Cloud, and when he left, her task had been made void- at least in her point of view. Because even though she may have helped him in the long run, she could no longer help herself by helping him. And whether or not she even realized that she was benefiting from her own kindness, she was going to spiral into depression if she did not find a way to be happy, independent of others.

He hadn't wanted her to become like him. He had seen how she was hurting back then, and he had wanted to help her, but he didn't want to let her become dependent on yet another person, and he feared becoming even a bit dependent on her. He saw now that she had covered it up and denied it to herself, even to the point that she had perhaps come to believe it. But obviously something was still bothering her, and he feared that it would slowly kill her. She would never be a monster, he thought, like him, but she would lead a life full of misery.

When she had showed up in the mansion, he had considered sending her away, wanting to be left alone to his misery. But instead he was struck with the notion that this could be a second chance for him; he could finally do what he could not do for her before, and now he had a reason to do it. She needed his help, even though she was under the impression that it was he who needed her, and he knew that she was doing this for his benefit.

Vincent lay on the bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling; his claw was draped over his bare chest, and his hand stretched back beneath his head. He thought back to the reasons why she would think he needed her help. Whenever he was left alone with his thoughts, his mind always wandered back to his misery. It had been so long…

It hurt to remember, but he could not help it. Times like these, Vincent wished that he had been plagued with amnesia after his traumatic ordeal. Then again, he had gotten to see her one last time…his love. But she was gone now, and would never be within his reach as long as he lived on this planet. All he could remember of her now was a dull and numbing sadness that lay under the heavier burden of pain and loss. His memories were plagued with that pain, a pain that would not subside, and that haunted him in his dreams.

He could still remember the fluorescent lighting and feel the hot liquid running from his body. His lifeblood…

Various tools of torture were prepared especially for him, prepared with a sick and twisted care. And whenever he was near escape, whenever he was at the breaking point, losing control…he was drugged. Four whole years he had spent under knives and unfamiliar machinery; four years of pure humiliation and anguish since he had been changed. And then he had been pumped full of drugs again and buried alive, sealed away in a chemically induced sleep- in a coffin only penetrable from the outside, forever to remain.

Brutally murdered at only twenty-three…

That was before they came. They came and gave him a purpose, and he almost opted to stay in his crypt and seal himself away from the world. He just wanted it all to disappear…he wanted it all to go away. Sometimes he had wished he had never been born. And sometimes he had thought that his time with her had been worth it all. But he had found that he could not escape from the pain, even in sleep; it would haunt him forever. 

And he still bore the scars…

Cid had fallen asleep on the couch and Shera had put out his cigarette. Tifa hadn't been ready to go to sleep yet, and Shera had wanted to walk around and do something- anything- and so Tifa had told her that she wanted to take a look at the car. Tifa had never taken much interest in mechanics, but it was something that she hadn't seen yet, and it never hurt to try and understand a friend's interests, right?

Tifa wandered around the vehicle, examining it with her curious gaze. She knew the basics of the workings of a car, but more than that, she was admiring the paint coating. Tifa had always been visually oriented, though she was logical as well; being a martial artist, she was accustomed to assessing the shapes of objects and their build. She paid special attention to movement and style, and the beauty of the action in an object.

She had just finished her trip around the car when something caught her attention. There was a row of books stretching across the back wall of the room like a border. They were all the same height and approximately of the same thickness. They were also all black with a small, red ShinRa logo at the bottom of the binder. 

She turned to Shera, who was standing in the doorway, quietly observing. "What are those?"

"Those? Ahm…those are the staff books."

Tifa's nose wrinkled and she gave a questioning look. "Staff books?" she repeated.

"You know how when you were in school, you had a yearbook?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Well, those are the ShinRa staffbooks. It's like employee profiles, issued only people that work in ShinRa. There were still some things that weren't included. Like…hmmm. Oh, I know. The Turks. They're in there too, but they have the shortest profiles. There are lots of things that ShinRa excluded from those books, but they were there for reference, in case an employee needed to locate another employee, or find out who they were…for the sake of business. Usually they were issued to employees who held a significant position. It's not like every soldier got one. Well, not every regular soldier, anyways. Members of the actual group of the same name got them, though. If someone of a lower position needed to get in touch with someone outside of their department, they would just talk to their superior."

"Oh, that's right! Cid used to be a pilot for ShinRa, I'd almost forgot. But…Cid's only what, thirty?"

"Just turned thirty-three this February," Shera replied, with a sort of pride in her smile.

"Right. But there are so many…"

"A lot of those books were his father's," Shera explained. "Did Cid ever tell you about his dad?"

Tifa shook her head.

"Cid's father was ShinRa's chief engineer. He was around before the reactors were even put into action, though he did help to design them. They started in Midgar and slowly spread to the rest of the continent before going overseas. It took a while to develop the plans and a lot of funds to put them into action." Shera noticed surprise register on Tifa's face, with a hint of something else as well. "Oh, but don't hate him for it," she said, knowing that those funds were the reasons the Midgar slums had become the way they had, and that the reactors were the tool that had fueled ShinRa's greed and led them to the Northern Continent in hopes of expanding their influence, which was where they had discovered Jenova. Tifa's father had died in a reactor as a consequence of their most prized experiment. "Cid's father was a brilliant man, but most people working for ShinRa at the start of all this mess had no idea what was to come of it.

Tifa's eyes softened as her consciousness seemed to drift farther away from Shera's voice, but she quickly shook her head and managed to smile at Shera. "I know…I know," she repeated to herself, as if trying to convince her own mind of the fact, looking to find some comfort in it.

She was struck suddenly with an idea.

Tifa walked briskly over to the last, half-filled shelf where the collection ended and examined the year on its binder. Then, she began walking back in time, counting the years backwards in her head. She stopped abruptly when she had covered about three fourths of the collection and stood in front of the first shelf. 

"It should be one of these," she said quietly to herself, in an almost inaudible whisper."

Shera stepped forward, curious as Tifa grabbed one of the books off of the shelf and started thumbing through it. There was an index, categorizing the different departments by name. Tifa skimmed the page until she found the department that she was looking for. Shera watched with interest as Tifa flipped through the pages in a hurry and landed on the title page of the category she had been in search of.

"…The Manufacturing Department of Administrative Research…" Tifa breathed softly. 

Shera wondered to herself what Tifa would want to look at that page for. Then her eyes widened as she remembered something Cid had told her once. She watched as Tifa flipped through the section slowly; the young girl's fingers were trembling, and her body was growing cold, then hot, while her muscles clammed up. The members were all listed in alphabetical order… 

Tifa's eyes came to rest on a page near the end of the section, and her heart nearly stopped. She stood there, stiff as an iron rod, her gaze glued to the page. She would not have been able to tear her gaze away from the page if she had tried. Something was holding her in that position, and she looked like a cornered rabbit; her heart was pounding loudly in her ears and her throat was dry. She tried to regain her composure and slowly stretched her hand out, holding the book away from herself, and almost dropped it as she let herself fall backwards to lean against the side of the car. 

Shera watched Tifa placed one hand on her forehead with some faraway look of amazement on her face. Tifa's breaths were shuddered and she was trembling. She immediately wrapped her arms around herself to try to stop her shaking. She looked up at Shera with wide eyes and then excused herself from the room.

Cid's fiancé walked over to where Tifa had set the book on the hood of the car, and picked it up; the place had been saved, the book having been set open and facedown. She looked at the pages and gasped.

Tifa stood outside Vincent's door. She didn't know why she was standing there or what she wanted from him; she only knew that she wanted to say something, not minding that she had no idea yet of what it was. Her mind raced. She could hardly believe what she had just seen…could that have really been him? The eyes were different, and the hair was shorter, but they were the same silky strands, black as night itself. The face had been the same from the nose up, but she had never seen the rest of his face before. His features were so…startling to her. It was nothing she had expected, and she was so taken back by the seemingly flawlessness she had just witnessed in his face. He was strikingly beautiful, but he looked so sad at the same time. His dark brown eyes conveyed more than his face and she had been almost terrified to look at them because she was struck with the depths of some emotion she did not understand, and that frightened her.

At the same time, she had felt almost guilty for what she had just done. The books were sitting right there on Cid's shelf, yet she felt somehow that she had invaded Vincent's privacy. She wondered just how much alike or different the Vincent she had come to feel so protective of was to the Vincent that had been a Turk all those years ago. She felt like she had gotten to know a part of Vincent that had been previously shrouded in mystery, which she had. Only she felt as if she should have gotten his permission first, and now she felt a strange need to tell him.

But what if he got mad at her? She was sure that he didn't want anyone to know about it, and she was afraid of angering him; she really wanted to get to know him. That's right, she felt protective of him. It seemed strange even to her when she thought about the way that sounded. She sure was not as strong as he was, or as fast. But she was feeling a strange protectiveness over his emotional and mental state; Tifa was a person of strong willpower. She was a strong fighter, this was true- but Tifa was also a master of inner strength. She had no doubt that Vincent was also extremely strong, though she had no idea exactly what it was that he had gone through, but she had always picked up where others had left off, being the strength that they didn't have. And now that she thought she might possibly have a chance of helping him to heal, of really getting to know him, she didn't want to hurt him. Vincent was a person who shied away easily and was extremely hard to get to know; he never let anyone in, ever. But she hadn't understood why he had agreed to come with her to Cid and Shera's, and she could only hope that he would continue with her afterwards. After refusing to let her try to understand him all those times in AVALANCHE, she didn't exactly expect him to warm up to her. 

But the way that he had answered Shera in the dining room made it sound like he was going to stay with her after all. And his dark eyes had been popping out of that picture and burning, recessing into the page at the same time, just begging for her to help him, listen to him.

Tifa swallowed the lump growing in her throat and knocked softly. "Vincent?" she whispered.

There was no answer. "Vincent?" she called, a little louder. Her hand moved to the doorknob, and began to shake uncontrollably; she thought it was going to fall right off. 

'I shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be…I shouldn't…' 

She turned the knob.

Inside the room, all was black, and she could see nothing, save for the bit of wood floor that the doorway shed some light on- but she heard steady breathing coming from where she knew the bed to be located. "…Vincent…"

She then noticed a faint red glow coming from the bed area, and watched as two red eyes floated up from their previous position; Vincent had just sat up, dragging himself away from the comfort of the bed sheets, and now had his eyes trained on her.

"I'm sorry…" she started, "I didn't know you were asleep…I didn't hear you respond, so I guessed you might have been, but I wanted to check…"

"It is alright, Tifa. I was not sleeping."

Tifa shuddered involuntarily. After seeing his old picture and now not being able to see him in the expanse of blackness, she couldn't even visualize him as he currently was in her mind. Hearing his smooth, unwavering voice in spite of her own nervousness was making her heart flutter strangely in her chest, as if it was trying to escape, to fly away. She didn't like this feeling, and she wanted to return to her familiar settings, and so she reached for the light.

As soon as she had located the switch after running her hand along the wall for about a second or two, she felt a warm hand on her own- a warm hand with cold fingertips. The hand that enveloped her own jerked away suddenly and her heart resumed its beating, fluttering as it may have been. 

"Please…" he asked of her, "do not turn the light on."

"O-k-kay…" She decided she should just stop before she ruined everything completely. She managed a small laugh. "Already accustomed to the dark, huh?"

"I am…accustomed to the darkness, yes."

 "Alright," she said with a steadiness that amazed even her, not grasping Vincent's hidden meaning behind his words, "I won't turn on the light then. I know how painful that can be sometimes."

'No, Tifa… you cannot possibly grasp how true that is,' Vincent thought to himself.

"Well then…I guess I'll be going then. Goodnight, Vincent."

"…Tifa, wait." 

She turned at the soft sound of his voice and stopped in the doorway, the light casting its golden glow over her face and hair, before it faded at her waist where her right leg was drawn back into the darkness. Vincent remained in the shadows, where the only part of him that was visible to her was still his eyes. She looked back at them, and noticed that in the dark, their light was bright enough to illuminate his facial features. She could tell that he was looking at the floor, because his eyes were thin slits, but the light was directed downward, casting an eerie red glow onto his high, pale cheekbones. The overall effect was that of a small red tinted flashlight pointed downward in the darkness, one for each side of his face. She was almost sure for a moment that from the light she could see…she could discern…a bit of his lower face. 

Maybe it was just the memory of what she had seen earlier playing tricks on her.

Either way, the silence was killing her, and as strangely calming as the atmosphere was, it was unnerving at the same time when she sorted the thoughts out in her head…alone in a dark room with Vincent, his red eyes glowing with an unnatural flame, fueled by some frighteningly powerful, hidden secret. Though she instantly wanted to run away, all she could do was stare in awe and nurse the idea of taking him in her arms and comforting him. 

Tifa had a strange habit of wanting to help everybody.

Finally, to her relief, he spoke again. "There was something you wanted to ask of me…?"

"Ah…no. No, I…I'm good." She smiled widely at him, trying to conceal all of her nervousness and awe behind that one simple expression she was so good in faking, all because she knew that Vincent could always see her face clearly, even if she had been in the shadows with him.

"…You are sure?"

She could feel his eyes searching her face even before she noticed them doing so. She firmed her features in resolution- she had backed out of this one, and she wasn't going to attempt it again until she knew for sure that she could handle it. "I am. I just wanted to say goodnight, I guess…make sure that you didn't need anything before I go off to bed."

"I am fine."

"Oh. Alright. Good then, I'll just be going now…"

"Goodnight, Tifa."

"'Night!" she called, and half-walked, half-ran out of the room.

Vincent silently shut the door behind her and lay down in the warm bed, letting the darkness cover him once again.

When Tifa reached the other bedroom, Shera was sitting cross-legged on the bed, waiting for her.

"You feeling alright?" Tifa asked. "I can get you something, if you need, or I'll be happy to do anything you need help with…"

"I should be asking the same to you," said Shera, with a melancholy expression on her face. She remembered the day that she had asked Cid to tell her about his adventures with AVALANCHE. He always told her about their escapades, beaming with pride all the while, whenever she asked. Of course, he tended to leave some things out for fear she'd go mad and pass out or get an ulcer or something crazy, even though the whole ordeal was over with.

"Women," he'd say.

But she remembered that day specifically, because that was the day he had told her about "that strange man who was standing in the corner of our kitchen, and was so reluctant to tell us what he did for a living," as she had put it. "Who is he, Cid?" she had asked him. And that was the day that Cid explained Vincent's connection with the ShinRa, or at least what he had known about it, which was basically that he had been a Turk. Strange, she now thought, that the thought hadn't even crossed their minds since then to look him up in the old staff books.

"I'm fine," said Tifa. "I just…let my mind wander for a bit. I'm okay now, really I am."

Shera then produced the same book and held it out to Tifa, who backed up a bit, her eyes stuck to it, though not as wide as before. "Ah huh...you're not fine. You're shaking in your boots! Tifa…"

"I'm sorry I acted the way I did, it's just…"

"You looked like you had seen a ghost."

"It felt like I did. …It still feels like I did…"

Shera looked up at her with sympathy. "You know, the best way to get over a fear is to face it." She handed her the book again, and Tifa took it this time, though reluctantly, as if to touch it meant illness. Shera laid back and turned over, her back facing Tifa in order to give her some privacy. She yawned and turned her head back, looking over her shoulder at Tifa and said, "You knew about this, right? That Vincent used to be a Turk?"

"Oh, yeah. We all knew. It's just, there's so much that we never did know, and it's almost like I've taken a step into this place where I don't belong…his place. And it's not like I can ever take it back, either. I just wonder if I'm ready to know any more about it, you know?"

"Do you think he would tell you if he knew you were interested?"

Tifa frowned. "No," she said. "No, I don't think he would. I think he would try to hide it, because he doesn't feel comfortable with anybody knowing about it, otherwise, why would he hide it?"

"Maybe…" Shera mused, "Maybe he has trust issues. Maybe he doesn't want to get hurt. Cid told me Vincent's been hurt before, really badly."

"Yeah, he has," said Tifa. None of them really knew the details, though, or the extent of the damage.

"Maybe he doesn't want you involved for other reasons. Maybe he wants to spare you from his pain."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…Cid said once that Vincent gave him the impression that he didn't like people. So Cid went up to Vincent one day and asked him plain and simple, 'Why the h*^& d'ya have to act like that, ya heartless son of a b*&^$?!'"

Tifa gasped at her impression. Shera just shrugged her shoulders and looked a bit remorseful, but more for Cid than herself.

"It's how he asked it. Anyways, Vincent asked him what he meant and Cid explained very colorfully that Vincent's anti-social behavior had given him the impression that he didn't much like anybody else there. He said that Vincent made it seem like it was the last place he'd wanted to be and then asked him flat out why he'd bothered to come if he was just sticking around to grace everybody with his moody presence.

"What did he say?" Tifa's eyes were wide as she tried to imagine the confrontation.

"He told him that he didn't hate anyone on the ship, but that none of them could ever relate to him, so he didn't bother to try to get close to any of them. Said that he would go his own way when it was all over anyways. Then Cid told him that if he would just tell someone what was going on, he was sure Vincent would be able to find someone who would understand him. But Vincent refused, and Cid could tell he was upset with him for prying into his business. He sharply told him that no one should be allowed to experience the kind of pain he had, and then told Cid to leave him be and not to speak to him of it again."

"Wow…"

"But he never told him not to tell anyone else. So now you know."

"Shera? Thank you…for telling me. It makes me feel better, thinking that maybe it's not my fault that he doesn't want to be friendly around me."

"Well…he did follow you here, right?"

"He probably felt like he had to, though."

"Maybe. But you might be able to find that out too, someday. Just take it slow, because I don't know what got to that man, but he seems so cold, I figure it must have been pretty big."

"Okay. Thanks again."

"No problem." Shera turned over and started to go to sleep with the light still on.

"Uh…Shera?"

"Hmmm?"

"You want me to turn that off?"

"No need. It's kind of nice right now. Besides…you take all the time you need. You probably shouldn't take that with you; that could be a big mistake."

Tifa had no intentions of taking the book with her in the first place, but she knew what Shera had meant. "Okay. 'Night, Shera."

"Goodnight, Tifa."

And Shera fell asleep quickly, while Tifa stayed up for what turned into another good hour as she studied Vincent's picture.

(A/N): Wow. Can we say long? I think out of all of these, this is my favorite chapter. I'm proud of its length, and I'm happy I got to cover everything I wanted to before I forgot it all in some random bout of daydreaming. Emotion is so hard to capture. My story on the timeline behind Vincent's "murder" and happy coffin time was meant to explain the stasis theory while also refuting some of the trouble with the stasis idea, such as: when did his hair grow, where'd he get the clothes, if hair grows in stasis (as in death as well), then why weren't his nails extremely long as well and his toenails (in those boots? Ouch!) and such. So I just gave him four years to grow his hair out. Meh.

 Reviews are much appreciated! Thanks to everyone who's been reading!

  
  



	12. Nightmares

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 11:**

**Nightmares**

By Darknightdestiny 

Stop, can we start again/ And rewind the hands/ 'Cause they move too fast/ I'd do it all again/ Just to have you here/ To relive the past/ I don't know how long I can take/ Watching you just walk away/ From the truth that you have known/ To a place you don't belong/ In this new complacency/ You're content to slip away/ Now there's nothing I can do/ But to say this prayer for you/ High are the walls you build/ I climb over them/ But have I come too late/ Choke on the things I said/ If you swallow them/ You may start to break

_-Luna Halo_

Vincent fell to the floor. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and poured out from him onto the wood, staining it a deep crimson. The entire room smelled of death and decay, and it assaulted his senses ten times worse. He dragged himself over to a dark corner and wretched uncontrollably with the pain, doubling over and wrapping his arms about himself tightly, as if he could keep the demon inside by physical force. His head jerked up when a searing pain tore from his arms up through his neck, and his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror in front of him.

He watched with horror as his face twisted and contorted into a grotesque shape before his very eyes. His arm fell against the glass surface as he tried to balance himself; he lurched forward and vomited his blood as he always did prior to a transformation. But this time it would not stop; over and over again, he lost his blood until he became so weak that he could not control the demon any longer, and he felt himself slipping away…

Vincent shot up in bed, sweaty and shaking. His eyes were burning and there was a lump in his throat that made it harder for him to breathe. He hung his head, still panting for air, and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. His body was cold and wet with perspiration, and he was shaking so badly he doubted he could stand on his own two feet.

Briefly, he wondered to himself if the nightmares would ever fade with the passing of time. But he pushed that hope away as immediately as it had come to him. As long as the demons existed within him, the nightmares would continue to visit him in the dark of night. Vincent felt the lump in his throat rise higher and despaired. He would not cry; he willed himself against it.

He almost laughed to himself. It seemed that he waged this battle against himself every morning, fighting the urge to relinquish his dignity, to admit defeat. He lifted one of his knees up and rested his elbow on it, holding his head in his human hand. His hair fell over his face once more, hiding his pain from the world, even though this time, there was no one around to see it. He had become something other than human, something he longed to get rid of and could not; it was trapped forever inside him. As much as he wanted, he could never have his old life back, no matter what he did, tried. He was utterly helpless. To let himself be broken would be the final step in his complete humiliation before the cruel scientist. The lump in his throat rose even higher, and he felt the burning in his eyes grow more intense.

He would not cry…

The sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, glistening off of the pools forming in his eyes, covered by the wet lashes that struggled to keep the hot liquid from overflowing. He blinked back his tears and did not let even one of them escape. Rising from the bed, he grabbed his shirt off of a nearby chair and donned it. The room was overshadowed in a deathly silence, and every rustling of the fabric could be heard as he slipped his arms through the sleeves. Walking back over to the chair, he bent down to retrieve his boots from its base. As he did so, his eyes caught view of himself in a freestanding mirror on the other side of the room. He studied his reflection in its depths…

…and resisted the urge to smash it into a thousand tiny pieces. 

Tifa awoke that next morning to find herself alone in the room. She looked over at the digital clock on the wall, which told her she had stayed in bed much later than she had planned. Moving to stretch, she found she had something clutched in her right arm, and part of it was digging into her ribs.

She looked down to see a black book cradled in her arm. The memory of the night before rushed back to bid her good morning, and she moaned knowing she'd have to face him after embarrassing herself yet again. She set the book on the side of the bed opposite her and turned over, burying her face in the pillow. She wasn't ready to face the day just yet.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. Quickly, she grabbed the book and shoved it under her pillow, then sat up in front of it. She straightened her hair as best as she could with her fingers, and then she called out.

"Come in, it's open."

"It is Vincent…you are decent?"

She flushed pink. "Of course."

The door creaked, and she watched as golden fingers curled around its side, slowly coaxing it further open. Two red eyes peaked at her from around the side of the wood, and Vincent stepped inside. He walked over to where she was sitting and watched her with an air of curiosity.

"May I sit?"

"Um…sure, I guess."

Vincent sat down besides her, still looking at her. This made her exceedingly nervous, in addition to the fact that she feared he might find out what she was hiding behind her. The corner was starting to jut out from underneath the pillow…

Vincent had superior perception. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't notice it. After all, it's not like he was looking for it in the first place, right?

"Tifa…" her heart jumped.

"Yes?"

"…How did you sleep last night?"

"Oh, I'm rested and ready to go!"

He studied her face. "…She lies," he said, more to himself than to her.

"Huh? Why, how would you know that?"

"I can tell…your eyes…they are tired. You stayed up late?"

She smiled. "You caught me," she said. When his eyebrow shot up to question her why she lost sleep, she caught the gesture and hurried to come up with an explanation. "I was talking with Shera about some things." She caught curiosity in his eyes again. "…Personal things," she was quick to add, "you know. Girl talk." Not quite a lie.

"Ah."

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable. Vincent only sat there on the end of the bed, staring off into space, probably engrossed in some deep thought that she had no idea about. She watched him, waiting for him to say something to her; there must have been some reason he had come to the room.

"So…" she ventured.

"…"

"There was something you wanted to ask me?"

"…I thought there was something you wanted to ask me."

"There was?"

He nodded his head, just once. Down. Up. "Last night."

"Oh. Right…"

There was another uncomfortable pause in the conversation. Tifa was busy trying to figure out what she should say, and Vincent was waiting for her to do so. She was so busy trying to figure out whether or not she should say anything at all, or make up an excuse, that she hadn't really given any thought to what she would say if she did.  
"You… have changed your mind?"

"Oh! No…no, I've been needing to ask you if you were going to come with me to Wutai." This was also not quite a lie.

He smiled beneath his cloak and laughed something that sounded like, "hmph." 

"I believe…" he started, "I believe that I will go with you."

"…You will?"

"You seem surprised."

"I really thought you would say 'no.'"

"…Why did you think so?"

"Well…I didn't think you really wanted to leave Nibelheim. You seemed pretty content where you were, but I'm glad you decided to come with me."

Vincent was quite sure she was glad. He knew she was trying to help him. He knew that she had been crying for him that day when he found her in a heap on his floor and carried her to his room. He felt extremely uncomfortable with her pity, but he understood that Tifa had made caring for others her business, and that it was how she dealt with her own unhappiness. He couldn't deny her that, no matter how much he disliked it. And now, it was his turn to help her. No one ever dared to repay her for her troubles before.

Soon, he would have to figure out how to approach her about the mask she always wore. And the words wouldn't be easy to find; she thought that he was the one who needed her help, and most likely, anything he said would be turned on him if she felt even the least bit offended by it. He knew he was guilty of masking his pain as well, but he felt he had reason to, while Tifa still had a life worth saving. Neither of them was ready to come out of hiding just yet.

He quickly changed the subject. "Have you eaten anything this morning?"

"No, I just woke up."

He knew that. It was just his way of small talk. He was still getting used to the idea of making normal conversation with her, but he knew that nothing would ever be accomplished if he stayed silent the entire time. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be very hard indeed. 

He stopped his thought process of pitying himself long enough to notice something else out of the corner of his eye. Tifa was sitting there, staring at his face, making all sorts of small and distinct movements with her eyes. He could feel her irises roaming all over his face, as if she were looking for something. Had he been someone else, he would have been fidgeting under her careful scrutiny, for that's what it was; she was analyzing every detail of his face.

Of course, Vincent had no idea why this was. But Tifa had her reasons; she was merely remembering the image still tucked beneath her pillow, and now that she saw him in the light, she was trying to merge the two images in her mind. It wasn't quite working, however; there was something about the way his hair and eyes had changed that made him look like a completely different person without the rest of his face visible.

Vincent consciously hid his face from her by lowering his chin and letting his ebony locks cover what was still visible against the red fabric. Tifa realized then that she had been staring, and she felt ashamed at her blatant display of curiosity. Vincent just turned his head slightly away from her and spoke before she had the chance to apologize for gazing at him.

"There is breakfast waiting for you downstairs, if you are hungry."

She nodded.

"…And Cid has agreed to grant us the use of his plane."

Momentarily, she forgot about her embarrassment, and let her joy at that result show. "Then I guess I'd better get downstairs and thank him!" 

Vincent watched her as she hopped out of the bed (forgetting in all her excitement that there was still a very precious element sticking out from underneath the pillow), and rushed to pull on her boots. He tried not to smile as she hopped around the room with one boot on her foot, trying to yank the other one on at the same time. Eventually, he had to step forward and steady her with his hand on her arm, lest she go crashing onto the floor. 

Tifa blushed a bit at the contact, though she wasn't sure why. After all, he was only doing what anyone else would do, right? And he had helped to carry her up to the room at the inn the night before, and this action certainly held less contact than that had required. Then again, she had been half asleep and didn't really have any coherent say in that. She realized that this was probably stemming from her surprise the night before. She tried to shrug it off, but there was still a voice nagging at the back of her head, hoping that it wouldn't affect her memories of the Vincent she had come to know and care about.

She headed towards the stairs, hesitating for a moment, then turning back to face him. "Are you going to come?"

"…I am not hungry."

"Ah. Well, okay. Though you probably should eat something."

"I will be fine."

She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "I tried," but instead said, "Alright then, I guess you know your body best."

And then she turned quickly and flew down the stairs, her face growing red. She berated herself inside; she'd been doing that way too much lately.

Vincent sat in the room, awaiting Tifa's return. When she was done eating, and had said her farewells, they would head off for Wutai. He made a mental note to himself to thank Cid and Shera for their hospitality; he felt guilty for the way he had ignored the two, but he had felt more than uncomfortable at the outcome of Cid's confrontation back on the Highwind, and he had assumed that the two were not on good terms. It turns out he had been wrong after all.

Sighing, he set himself down on the bed and laid back, his eyes tired from his nightly unrest. He had no particular desire to fall asleep, yet his eyes begged for the comforting caress of darkness.

He adjusted his head on the pillow, not quite able to get comfortable, which was unusual for the gunslinger; he tended to make due with whatever was presented him, yet this time something just was not right. He adjusted his head again, and this time there was a sharp pain at the nape of his neck. He sat up and looked down at the pillow; something was protruding from underneath, and it had dug itself into his tender skin. He removed the pillow and snatched up the object, holding it up at eye level in front of his face.

He didn't have to wonder what it was; he already knew. He had received a couple of them himself, back when he was a Turk working for ShinRa. He also didn't need to ask why Tifa would have the book under her pillow, unless he had a sneaking suspicion that she liked to browse through pictures of strangers just for kicks. He pulled back the cover, in search of the year issued. He was right.

Tifa sat at the table downstairs with Shera, who had made a most lovely breakfast, and Cid, who had acquired a most lovely hangover. Shera advised Tifa that if she ever found a man that always needed whiskey with his tea, then she had better make sure that he didn't have the affinity for tea that her Cid had.

"Shera, this is wonderful!" Tifa exclaimed, inhaling the steam rising from the food that lay before her, letting the smell of the food wash over her. "This is absolutely amazing!" She turned to Cid. "Aren't you going to eat something?"

"No…f*&^$%^…way," he grumbled. "Gimme a liter of cough medicine, I wanna sleep," he whined, and banged his head forcefully on the table.

"It'll make you throw up."

"Now why the h&## would I wanna do that?"

"It might help you get whatever's left out now, before things get worse…"

"No. I'm a man, d^*&@$! I'll suffer like one!" Then he moaned in pain and held his head in his hands, simultaneously banging it on the table, repetitively.

Tifa turned to Shera. "Does he always get like this? When he has one of those, I mean?"

Shera grinned at Tifa. "Yep! Just try to ignore it; it should go away by noon."

"Ah, ok. Shera, you have to show me how you make your eggs so fluffy…"

Tifa rambled on and on in gratitude, blissfully unaware that her worst nightmare was coming true as she spoke.

There was a banging noise coming from downstairs.

'Hmmm…,' Vincent mused quietly to himself, 'Cid must have a hangover.'

(A/N): Hooray! Another chapter up! More to come…

9/10/03: Started my Lucca/Magus story.

10/13/03 (Vincent's birthday): Will post my Vincent 27th birthday one-shot.


	13. Crash and Burn

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 12:**

**Crash and Burn**

By Darknightdestiny 

Upstairs in the bedroom, Vincent lay reclined on the soft bed, leafing through the book he had found. Every once in a while, his eyes would happen upon the face of someone he recognized, even if they hadn't worked in his department. He felt like an outsider, even though it had been no time at all in his eyes, when he looked at the pages of the old collection. One realization hit him like a ton of bricks…

They had all gone long before him.

He really was looking at his old associates through the eyes of an outsider; they would be well aged by now, and have other matters to attend to, lives of their own. With the fall of ShinRa, they would all have returned to their families, ready to lead peaceful lives. Most of the members of his own "department" were probably dead long before that, but the others…they had families, and children of their own. And grandchildren…

Just over his usual morning ritual of shame and cleansing, as if it were no big deal whatsoever, Vincent unconsciously fell back into a quiet lamenting stage as he tortured himself over and over again with thoughts of what could have been. He wondered what kind of a life he would have had if he had been able to live along with the rest of them. Ripped from his own time, and lost in the flow of another, unfamiliarity had taken its toll on Vincent, and he always drifted back to these musings of his, no matter how often he told himself that he was used to this new world.

Just what would have happened? If he hadn't…if she hadn't…

No. He couldn't let his thoughts travel down those paths anymore. Commenting on an inflation rate that was unheard of, or inwardly sneering at the ridiculous turns the popular fashion trends had taken- that was one thing. But to constantly think on something that hurt so much, drilled at his insides…and knowing that it could never be changed, could never be made right somehow…was too much. He could never turn back the hands of time. But for some reason, he just could not pull himself away.

'Maybe I do need her help,' he grimaced at the irony of his situation, 'or someone's…'

He flipped to his own picture, not caring how the sight might affect him. He quickly found himself staring at the image, overcome with a strange sense of awe; this was the kind of awe that some people experience when they come across old video tapes or writings that they may have created when they were children- where some people are delighted and amazed at their younger selves, unsure how they could have ever been so small, some people are embarrassed or completely disinterested altogether with the image of their former self. What Vincent felt was an unsettling combination of the two.

Now, Vincent's embarrassment was not the kind of embarrassment that an older child feels when his parents feel the need to show off pictures of himself in diapers or whatnot. Vincent's embarrassment was quite different, one more of shame than anything else, the picture conjuring up most unpleasant feelings, whether they were emotional or physical. He felt a sense of loss when he looked at a healthier version of himself, a version that had a purpose in life, even though it hadn't been an honorable one. But he also felt the pungent taste of bile rise up into the back of his mouth when he thought of all the lives that had become nothing but vapor by his hands.

Looking into his deep brown eyes, almost black with sin, he found no answer. No answer to why he had done the things that he had done, or why he had ceased to feel remorse for any of them until he had been forced to pay a terrible price. He titled his head just so, finding his reflection in the mirror that hung on the side wall. When he looked into the mirror now, a pair of blood red irises stared back at him, alien to him. They were his, but yet…they were not his own. They had been given to him, forced on him. The eyes of a monster…

But even now, looking into the eyes of a blood-thirsty beast, he saw himself, or what he thought to be himself; he saw his inner demons, and he saw his torment. And all of this was more of a comfort to him than looking at his former picture, no matter how much it disgusted him. Because when he looked into the eyes of the former Vincent, also a killer, he saw something far more disturbing. He saw…nothing.

'Am I even worth saving? Is that true remorse at all, if I could not even feel it until I had to pay for my sins, feel the pain to understand it? Are my only regrets that I had to suffer for the pain I caused?'

He knew that his sins had been many and horrible. And yet…he had known back then, too; he still had done nothing to stop himself. And though he had known that what he was doing was wrong, he continued to do so until he could feel no more. Eventually, he possessed the knowledge of right and wrong without any of the troublesome burdens of that small voice known by many as a conscience.

'What would possess a girl as kind-hearted as she to keep something so horrifying and terrible this close to her bed, the place nearest the gates to her dreams?'

He was startled from his thoughts when a sudden knock at the door sounded round the room, penetrating the walls of his privacy. The earlier, constant silence paired with the unexpected noise proved that the room had never seemed so empty. 

He looked down at the book sitting loosely in his hands, and his fingers tensed and brought it to a close; he shoved the book back underneath the pillow where he found it.

"…You may enter."

The door swung open and Tifa walked into the room, her face glowing. Her early morning conversation and hearty breakfast had left her rejuvenated; she felt much livelier than she had in a long time, something that living alone had deprived her of, no matter how much pride the returned independence had given her. Maybe all she had needed was to get in touch with some old friends.

"Hey," she started, "you all ready to go?"

He nodded.

"Cid's moved all our stuff out to the Bronco, though you might want to check and make sure you didn't leave anything behind. All that's left is us."

He stood.

"Are you ready to go?"

He nodded.

"Alright, then."

Tifa exited the room, thinking to herself how Vincent seemed even more mechanical than usual, while Vincent just stared after her, wondering how she could have just left something like that unattended. 'She must have truly forgotten,' he thought. 'Careless… amazing that she has lasted so long on her own.' There was only one thing left to do. He yanked the book from underneath the pillow, placing it within the folds of his cloak, then followed Tifa down the stairs. 'Why the sudden curiosity towards a demon's past? So many questions…'

Sitting in the cockpit of the Tiny Bronco, Tifa realized just how small the little town looked from high up in the sky. She had seen this before when she had been on the Highwind with the rest of them, but she had never really thought about it in that way before; now that she thought about it, she did understand what Cid had meant about the world seeming so small in the grand scheme of things, and now she could relate to it, see it through his eyes.

Why these things had come to her mind on that random day in the slums, she wasn't sure. Maybe it was the right combination of time spent in restlessness, the perfect number of whiny drunkards, and the last straw when it came to cleanup after bar fights, which usually ended up in one of the participants losing their liquor all over the floor. Tifa made a face at the thought of another day stooped down on the floor of the bar, cleaning up someone else's vomit. She wasn't always the one who had to do it, but if she was in the bar, she would never, ever make Jolene do it. That was part of Tifa's kindness…no matter how bad the job, she'd never make someone else do something that she could handle better.

As disgusting as it sounded, that may not have been the reason for leaving, either. She had no aim in her travels, except to "find herself," which was going to be a feat in itself, seeing as she didn't even know where to begin. Come to think of it, she didn't even know what she meant by it. Maybe she just hadn't wanted to be alone anymore. True, she had Will and Jolene back at the bar to help her out, but that was different. She had just wanted some familiar face, someone that she had known for much longer, someone who she knew she could trust with anything, even her innermost thoughts.

Here, she had met up with Cid and Shera, and all of her uneasiness went away in the blink of an eye. She felt at her best when she was with her friends, and she knew that if she could just keep that up, then maybe she would be able to find what it was that was missing in her life. She knew now that she was glad she wasn't going to have to find out on her own; even though Vincent had never seemed the social type, he was still with her, and it was better than no company at all, waiting alone with some unspoken expectation for something she wasn't sure would ever come, or in what form it would present itself.

She decided then and there that she felt like an old monk, or a pilgrim, on some spiritual journey, unsure of where it would lead her. True, she had no direction, but what did that matter when she was unsure of her destination all together? She looked over at Vincent, who was staring out the passenger side window. He looked so deep in thought; 'Probably brooding again,' she thought to herself. 'Why does he beat himself up all the time?'

"Is something troubling you?"

She was a bit startled that he had been the one to speak to her, but nevertheless, he deserved an answer. "What makes you think so?"

"You made a face…"

"A face?"

"It was only a minute ago.

"Oh?" There was a long pause, and Tifa had thought maybe she had been playing dumb for too long, and that he had lost interest in talking altogether. Finally, he spoke again, bringing an end to her uncertainty.

"You…scrunched your nose up. In that way…" he replied, his eyes still gazing out the window.

Tifa's eyes searched his side of the cockpit for some telltale object like a mirror or anything that would give her away without him having to budge an inch, but she could not find any. She gave up on that idea, and decided she would continue the conversation. After all, it was not a common occurrence to be able to get Vincent to speak without being asked a question first. Truth be told, she was surprised he had noticed that little unique trait of hers.

"I was just thinking," she said.

"…What were you thinking about, if you don't mind my asking?" He wasn't good with conversation, but he was going to try, if not for himself, then at least for her.

"Hm?" she was slightly distracted by a quick rush of air currents beside her, and she turned her attention back to the controls, maneuvering through the various shifts in the air. 

"…When is it that you learned how to pilot a craft?"

"Oh," she answered, "I used to sit up front all the time with Cloud, and I would watch him when he worked with it. I eventually was able to figure out how to do it myself, it's really not that hard."

'Very good with that mask, indeed,' he thought. Another question dawned on him, a very important question to be exact, but there was something else he wanted to finish before going on to that. It would do no good to make Tifa lose all her nerves before he was even done asking everything he felt he needed to know in order to help her out. He would have to break this down slowly, if he wanted to do it right.

"Again, if you don't mind my asking…"

"Huh? Oh! Right, right. I was thinking…about home. You know, the things I did while I was there, stuff I did to keep myself busy."

'And her mind off of what's really bothering her…'

"What sort of things did you do…?"

"Well, I worked in the bar…didn't I tell you about this yesterday?"

"You did."

"Oh."

"I had thought…" he hesitated, "that perhaps since we had not talked about it to a great extent…"

"…You want to hear what I do?"

"…"

"Vincent?"

He looked into her eyes. She seemed to want to tell him; even if he had said no right then and there, she wouldn't have been able to hold back now that he'd asked. She just wanted someone to listen to her.

"…Tell me."

"Fine, I will. I thought owning the bar would be a dream come true, you know? Because I had really missed my old Seventh Heaven before it got trashed, and it's what I know, so I can make a pretty good living off of it."

He nodded.

"But it's a lot of work. I mean, it always was, but after being away from it for so long, I just don't get the same kind of satisfaction from working that kind of a job anymore. After being with AVALANCHE…" her voice trailed off, then started back up again. "Vincent, there's something…" she blushed, "ah…there's something 'wild' about a job as a female bartender. No, I don't appreciate the kind of attention it brings, believe me, there are a lot of 'compliments' I wish I didn't get. But when you're a young girl in the slums, there aren't that many great opportunities. Barmaid…was actually a testament to my 'tough girl' status, you know? Does that make sense?"

He nodded once more; she didn't think he could possibly understand where she was coming from, but he was acting like he did, so she continued.

"After joining AVALANCHE, I didn't really need that so much, because I knew where I belonged, and I didn't have to prove myself to anyone. So the bar became more of a 'cover' for our operations than an actual business. There hadn't been much business going on there anyways. But now that that's all over…" She looked up at him, disappointed with herself. "It's all I know."

"…I see."

She set her eyes ahead. "Anyways, for three months I've been serving the people of Neo-Midgar their drinks, and it hasn't been all that bad, but…I just wish I knew more than that kind of life. I don't want to just serve drinks for the rest of my days. I'm still young- I want to get out and see the world."

He smirked beneath the crimson fabric. "But you have seen the world…"

"I'd like to have the time to just stop and enjoy it for once. You understand me, though, right? Life's too precious to waste sitting around, not doing anything worthwhile. Sure, I can make money as a barmaid, but am I really helping anyone? No, I'm not. More often than not, the people who come to my place to forget their problems leave feeling more miserable than they did when they walked in, and when they wake up the next morning, all of their problems are still waiting for them, plus a great big hangover. Me, I just want to relax for once, and be happy."

"That is an interesting goal…"

'I suppose if anyone deserves to be happy, it would be Tifa," he thought to himself. "She has been through so much in her life, and no one pays her a bit of thanks for all she does for them; she has always tried to get rid of her pain by helping others forget their own. But all she has accomplished has been to push it further down inside herself…' 

"It's good enough for me," she said, "at least for now."

"…May I ask another question of you?"

"Go for it."

"…Why Midgar?"

For a minute, it seemed like she wasn't going to answer, and Vincent started to question himself; that may have not been a wise move. Perhaps she had reservations about the city, or certain reasons she had for being there that she did not want revealed. Then she replied very casually, as if she shrugging the question straight off of her shoulders, though she gave him a satisfactory answer.

"…It's home to me."

Vincent seemed satisfied with this answer and returned his gaze to the window, to the blue expanse lying beneath them. Still facing the horizon, he ventured one more question, this one being his last for the trip as they were quickly approaching Wutai.

"Tifa…"

"Yes?"

"I have one only one more question for you…"

"What is it?"

"…You had learned how to drive the Bronco by watching Cloud…"

"Yes."

"But Cloud was always the one driving the craft…"

"Right."

"So…when did you learn how to land the plane?"

"Uh…."

"…Tifa?"

Tifa looked at Vincent apologetically, her face giving the clear impression that a resounding "Whupps," was dancing on the tip of her tongue, then began to circle the area, looking for a grassy field or a cluster of trees in which to make an emergency landing.

(A/N): Sorry it took so long for me to get this up! Sept. 13 was my birthday, hooray! ::Does the birthday dance:: I am now a legal adult! Whoop! And…joy of joys, my friend Kyle actually found me an existing, working copy of Ehrgeiz! Yahoo! I beat the game in about twelve minutes with Tifa, just so I could unlock Vincent. Later in the night, a group effort made Sephiroth the champ..and then there was a cool video o.0

I realized I made it seem like Tifa did something stupid again, but she's just excited about her trip, and she's only human! Besides, this thing was getting much too serious for its own good, even though there's no comedy in the genre listing.


	14. Green Tea and Sympathy

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 13:**

**Green Tea and Sympathy**

By Darknightdestiny 

It was rough, but somehow, Tifa managed to execute the landing safely with a little help from her co-pilot. She'd panicked, hadn't known what to do, and he'd simply stepped in and talked her through it. She had forgotten that the Turks were trained in all types of survival situations, and had already decided that they were goners.

"…Relax," he had said. "Breathe."

And she had thought, 'That's easy for you to say…you're not the one who wasn't thinking and got us into this mess! How am I ever going to get us out of here now?!'

But he had set up next to her, reached over and slipped his hands around hers, taking hold of the controls and steadying her shaking fingers. "We have enough time…there is plenty of fuel in the tanks. Now, keep moving in wide circles, and I want you to do everything that I tell you…"

His voice never wavered the entire time, and he had calmly told her exactly what he had wanted her to do, all the while telling her to relax, and reminding her again and again to breathe. 

As soothing as his voice had seemed, Tifa hadn't let herself be held by it and though she was doing everything she could, inside she was still a wreck. Eventually they managed to bring the small plane down in a field near the Wutai village, and Tifa jerked the door open and hopped down to the ground where she fell to her knees, breathing heavily. Vincent followed suit out from the passenger side, and walked over to where she was crouched on the grass. 

He watched for a while in silence while she shook and gasped. She'd been in shock; no matter how many times she'd fought for her life, she could still be taken in by something as simple as crashing a vehicle. After she was near done, he averted his eyes towards the village in the distance and opened his mouth.

"…Will you be alright?"

"...Yeah," she managed, her voice still a little shaky, "I think so…"

"Try to calm yourself, Tifa…you did just fine."

"…Thanks," she croaked.

Vincent looked back at her and shrugged. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, and they both set their feet in the direction of Wutai. They walked with Vincent leading the way, and Tifa trailing behind him, feeling a bit dejected at her failure. Vincent only wondered to himself if he should tell her that she'd really done it all on her own; his hands had only been there in case she had done something completely out of line, but he had never needed to use them.

Tifa looked up at him from behind and ventured a question. "Vincent?"

"…" He kept his eyes forward.

"Vincent, how come when we got into the plane, you didn't ask me if I knew how to pilot it before? Why didn't you just assume the driver's seat?"

"…You just…looked so happy." He smiled to himself.

Tifa's expression turned to one of shock, then mock fury. "You think this is funny? We were almost killed! I don't understand what's with you, Vincent, honestly. You think the most morbid things are funny, but you could never even laugh at Yuffie's tricks!"

"Yuffie…" he stated, "was one of the most annoying children I have ever met."

"Well, then. I guess you'll get your chance to meet her again!" Then, as an afterthought she wondered, 'I hope he doesn't think I'm annoying…'

"…This should prove to be interesting."

"Be nice…"

"If I must..."

When they arrived in Wutai, they found themselves in the middle of an extremely busy town, not at all like the quiet, laidback tourist pit they had remembered. Vincent stalked off in the direction of the Turtle's Paradise, but Tifa reached out to stop him, hooking his metal arm with her fingers. He turned around and looked at her, no readable expression on his face. He couldn't raise an eyebrow at her, because he knew why she had stopped him, and what else did he ever do to show what he was feeling?

Tifa's arm shot back to her side, and she managed to smile at him, nervous as she was under his gaze. "I'm going to visit Yuffie. You don't have to come, but I'd really appreciate it if you did. And," this is where she would have nudged him, had he been someone else, "I'm sure she would be disappointed to hear that you'd rather sit in a stuffy bar, waiting to leave rather than visit her, when we all know you're not a big drinker."

Vincent turned his face, like his eye had caught the attention of something just over his left shoulder, and he let out a sigh. "…After you."

"You know," Tifa said as they began walking towards Lord Godo's complex, "I'll bet Yuffie will be happy to see you."

"…"

"After all, no one has heard anything from you in so long…"

"…"

"And you know what?"

"…I cannot begin to imagine, but I am sure you will tell me…"

"Oh, so then you don't want to hear then…" she trailed off, feigning disappointment. "Oh well," she smiled up at him playfully, "you were right. I am going to tell you."

"…"

"I can't help it, even though she might kill me later. You know, she had a crush on you for a while when we were in AVALANCHE."

Vincent made a face- Tifa didn't notice. Instead, she continued on about how Yuffie used to think Vincent was just the "cutest senior citizen ever," and such. According to Tifa, Yuffie used to go on and on about how nice Vincent looked, from whatever she could see of him. But she thought he was really mean and cold and had no personality, so she could never date him.

"…What a shame." Vincent's lament was a sarcastic overkill and Tifa burst out laughing. He raised an eyebrow at her and she just smiled back.

"Poor Yuffie. You really didn't like her either, did you?"

"…Either?"

"Ah…I didn't think you liked Cid…"

"…I told you before."

"Told me what?"

"It is not a matter of whether or not I like either of them. It is a matter of whether or not I can stand to be in an enclosed space with one of them for a lengthened period of time."

"Hmmm…what's wrong with Cid?"

"…Nothing is wrong with Cid. He is a good man."

She was about to ask him, "Then why didn't you want to go into his house?" but then she realized that she should have known why after her talk with Shera, and she just kept her mouth shut. She couldn't help wondering though, what he had meant when he had said that no one should be allowed to experience the kind of pain that he had. What kind of horrible pain must it have been?

She decided that now was not the time for that kind of talk; today was supposed to be a happy day. Yuffie was a hyper girl, she would no doubt be hyper today, and there would be no sense in going to a hyper girl's house if she started a conversation that would make her depressed or uncomfortable in the end.

"So…what's wrong with Yuffie?"

"…"

"Really, she's not that bad."

"…Are we still talking in terms of social interaction, or are we talking about this 'crush' ordeal?"

"Heh…ah, I was talking about just as friends. Though, if you want to tell me about anything else-"

"Yuffie is a child…there is nothing I have to say to her. Perhaps if she were of a higher maturity, I would be able to carry on a conversation with her, but as things are…"

"So no dating, huh?"

"I was talking about as friends…"

"Mmmhmmm, but still?"

"…Not a chance."

They approached the steps to Godo's house and Tifa didn't even wait for Vincent; she knew he preferred her to be the one to knock, even more so than at Cid's. Tifa rapped on the thin wall and waited for an answer. She looked over at Vincent, who was looking at the ground, obviously not in any hurry to enter the residence. When she looked back in the direction of the house, the door was sliding open to reveal the worn face of Chekov. 

Tifa curtsied before the female warrior, and Vincent nodded his head, just happy that it was not the ninja girl jumping all over the two of them or snatching their valuables right off of them. He made a mental note to himself to always be aware of where that book was; he'd always been wary around strangers, and that wariness never wore off around Yuffie, because of her reputation as a thief- and Vincent didn't want Tifa to become embarrassed. 

Tifa rose from her curtsy and Chekov gave a quick bow.

"I remember you. What brings you to Wutai?" she said breathlessly, as if she was in a hurry.

"Is Yuffie home?"

Chekov's eyes grew wide. "Oh, yes. You want to take her away? I'll let you if you want!"

Tifa was just about to ask what brought that comment on when she heard a loud voice shouting from down the hallway, "Come back here, you old hag!"

Chekov ran outside and grabbed Tifa, using her as a shield. "It's her training! She's so vicious! Take her back, take her back! Just don't tell her father!"

The sound of quickening footsteps across the hardwood floors inside increased, and another shout filled the air. "You're supposed to be training me! What are you, scared? I'll tear you limb from limb!"

Chekov grabbed Tifa's hips- hard- and braced herself for what she was sure would be her last moment. All three saw a shadow appear in front of the doorway and stretch forward, until the form of a young girl flew out from the darkness to claim it as she landed gracefully on her feet.

The girl slowly rose from her crouched position, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "You…will be defeated…now! And- oh, heya, Tif!"

Yuffie completely forgot about her current lesson and ran over to give Tifa a giant hug, while Chekov snuck quietly over to the Pagoda. Vincent, as always, was the silent observer. 

"Bounce-o-rama! How ya been? I missed you so much! There are no girls here, only Chekov and she's an old fart! Hey…where'd she go? Nooooooo! I'm supposed to beat her!"

"Chekov doesn't look that old to me."

"Oh, you know what I mean. Tifa, there's so much I have to talk to you about! They're going to make me leader of Wutai!"

"Yuffie, that's exciting! I'm so happy for you. Can we come to the ceremony?"

"Well…it won't happen until I turn eighteen, but…sure! Anyways, we have a lot of catching up to do! I really missed talking with you. Oooooh, I have to tell you about my new boyfriend!"

"Yuffie got a boyfriend, wow," Tifa said to herself aloud. "Did you hear that, Vincent?"

But Vincent was already walking away. Tifa called after him, "Hey, Vincent! Where are you going?"

"…I will be waiting at the Turtle's Paradise. Feel free to come by when you have finished your conversation."

Tifa lay on the soft cushions, her eyes starting to droop with exhaustion. She'd been through a lot that day, and it wasn't even noon yet! The warm tea wasn't helping her stay awake, either, and she'd been listening to Yuffie prattle on and on about how handsome and fun this new guy was; the whole thing was getting pretty repetitive- the ninja just kept on reiterating the same things, only in different words.

Just as Tifa thought she was going to doze off in the middle of the one-sided conversation, Yuffie interrupted her established flow.

"So, Bounce-o-rama…what's new with you?"

"Hm? Oh…well, there's a new bar…"

"You work it all by yourself?" Everyone that had been in contact with Cloud had known about his departure. Cloud had made Tifa promise to call each one of them after he had left, so that they would know, but also so that they would not be able to follow him. He had his own sequence of things to do and places to visit…and it was something he had wanted to do on his own. After that, they had all lost touch, more or less.

"Yeah…I mean, no. No, I have some help." She smiled one of her big, fake smiles at Yuffie. She sure felt like she was alone, whether she really was or not.

"That's great! So uh…what're you doing out here, then?"

She hesitated to answer. "…I think I just needed to get away, you know. Take a much needed vacation."

"Aw, I'm sorry. But if you ask me, you should've done that in the first place, before you had the bar!"

"…I guess. I just had to do something, though. All those people…and Midgar is my home."

"Yeah, I know. You've always been like that."

"Like what?" Tifa sat back up, curious as to what the younger girl had meant.

"You always…I dunno. Help people, I guess. It's your thing. You're Tifa, everyone's guardian angel- you make everyone happy when they're sad. And if you can't, it's like you've failed or something."

Tifa knew that was true, she did feel that way when she couldn't do anything for someone who was hurting.

"I bet you try and help your whiny customers with their problems."

Tifa had been known to do that on occasion.

"You know, Tif…you should try and be happy yourself for once."

"But I am happy. I've always been happy."

"Fine Tifa, if you say so, but you don't look like your usual cheery self. And that's sure not gonna get any better if you keep hangin' around Vinnie! Why are you two traveling around together anyways?"

Tifa thought hard for a while, trying to come up with an answer that might satisfy the curious girl, but she couldn't come up with one. She decided to just tell the truth. "I thought maybe I could help him…"

"Hoooo, boy. Nu-uh, no way. That's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"First of all, no one knows why he acts the way he does, except that it has to do with that freak in the white coat and the woman in the cave. Second, don't expect him to stop acting that way either. It's been thirty years, and nothing's changed, and even if he was gonna change, I sure wouldn't want to be the one to ask him what was going on."

"You know…to him, it might not have been thirty years. It may have only been a few months…"

"But he had all that time to think about it."

"But when you sleep, time is-"

"Not going to happen, Tif. Trust me, you don't wanna mess with Vinnie. Not even you, Tifa, and I know how much you like to help people."

Tifa sighed and looked down at the floor in front of her, past the mat with the teacups on it.

"I'm sorry, Tifa." Yuffie came and sat down beside her and gave her a hug. "You should probably go find somewhere to stay on your own, where it's quiet. There you can go and sort things out."

"Yuffie, I think you've grown up a bit."

"Really? Gee, thanks, Bounce-o-rama."

"Never mind, I think I take it back."

"Hey!"

(A/N): Okay…I snagged the title from Jars of Clay's song, "Tea and Sympathy," though I'm not quite sure that any of the song has anything to do at all with the story. The nickname "Bounce-o-rama" is something that came from a friend…used to call me that one year at camp…not that I'm bragging about anything…just saying that, uh, the name came from her. Samantha. Yes. There. So we're claiming it- I've never seen anyone else use it before, and so I'm claiming it as hers. No reproduction, heh, heh. I've got an original nickname in my story, go me!

One more odd thing. Since I'm still caught up in the whole birthday thing, let me say this. Exactly one month after mine, Vincent will have a birthday (and there was much rejoicing). Now…I was betting on this part from the moment I saw that it was October 13th, because let's face it, the whole thing couldn't be more perfect. FF7 was released in 1997…so I did some research. 30 years earlier (as Vincent was lowered into his coffin…DUN DUN DUN), October 13th, 1967, the date fell on a Friday the Thirteenth (and years later, there was much rejoicing at the movie theatres). But I knew that was going to be the case even before I looked it up, because it's just the way it has to be. Too, too perfect.

Anyone else going to see the new Chainsaw Massacre movie? Kind of reminds me of Hellmasker. Yes, I'm a weirdo. Poor Vincent would cringe in shame.


	15. To Keep Out the Cold

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 14:**

**To Keep Out the Cold**

By Darknightdestiny 

"So, you gonna take my advice?" Yuffie questioned Tifa as they walked towards the bar.

"I think I'll find somewhere to go where I can think, yes."

"Really, I think that would be the best thing, Tif. I mean, you need time to think, be alone. Figure out what you want in life."

"Wow, Yuffie. I'm surprised, really I am. You've grown up so much…" Tifa smiled at her friend.

"Thanks. So…what're you gonna do about Vinnie? Where's he gonna go?"

Tifa looked back at her, taken back by the question. She hadn't really thought about that, just assumed…

"I was going to take him with me…"

Yuffie stopped dead in her tracks and looked at Tifa like she'd suddenly grown a second head. "You what…? Tifa, didn't you hear anything I said to you?"

"Yuffie…I can't give up on him."

"Oh, boy." She seemed stuck in her own opinion, but she started walking again. "You do realize you're asking for a load of trouble!"

"Yes, I realize the risks."

"Vinnie doesn't open up to people, Tif…"

"I know."

"…You think you can make him?"

"I don't want to make him do anything he doesn't want to. I just…want to see him happy for once. And if I can help him get that, then maybe I'll know that I still have a purpose."

"Tifa, that may be your gift, but can't you ever be happy just because?"

Tifa's eyes met her feet. "I don't know…maybe."

Yuffie grabbed her arm. "You can, I know you can!"

Tifa smiled back at the young girl. "Thanks, Yuffie."

"No problem. So…what's it like traveling with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'd think it'd drive you crazy. It'd drive me crazy." 

"It's…a new experience."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, believe it or not, he's been more talkative around me lately, but when we're traveling out in the open, he's just as silent as he always was. It's like he has these on and off periods."

"Did you guys run into any monsters?"

"There were a few, but nothing big. I keep doing these stupid things, though."

"Huh. I never thought of you as the type to do anything stupid."

"I don't know, just…things that embarrass me. Whenever I'm working with Vincent towards something, I always feel so inadequate."

"Well," Yuffie smiled, "that's because he's some super-human vampire!" Yuffie had always said things like that about Vincent. It didn't really matter to her; she thought it was cool. "You can't expect to compete with abilities like that! I was kinda envious of his skills at one point too, you know. But ah…why do you care what Vinnie thinks? I'd think he'd be used to people not keeping up with him."

"Uh…"

"We're here!"

'Thank goodness,' thought Tifa.

Tifa was pulled into the bar by Yuffie, who threw the door open wildly in all her new excitement. Some patrons stopped to stare; others made faces at each other. Yuffie stuck her hands on her hips and looked around the bar. "Now where did Vinnie go? I don't see him anywhere…"

Tifa's eyes scanned all the darkest places in the room, for she knew that if Vincent was there, then that's where he would be found. But he was not in any of the dark corners of the bar, nor was he anywhere else inside. Of course, he could just be hiding from Yuffie. "He's not here."

"Isn't this where he said he'd be?"

"Yes…"

"Hmmm. That guy…always wanders off without giving any warning!" Yuffie stormed out of the bar, while Tifa followed quietly behind her. Tifa had just crossed the threshold of the building when a warm hand closed itself around her wrist and held her where she stood. 

Looking up, Tifa found herself staring into Vincent's eyes. Her face wore an expression of mild shock and one side of her mouth twitched upwards. "Are you trying to scare me again?"

"…I had started to wonder if you were going to come back at all." His face showed no expression, so she wasn't sure if he was upset or not. He wasn't upset at all, actually. In fact, he was a bit amused at her reaction. Vincent had always been a master of entrances and exits; they always went the way he planned whether they were pronounced or not.

Tifa looked up ahead, where Yuffie was still walking away; the ninja still hadn't noticed her absence. "Yuffie! He's back here!" she called.

"…Must you call her over to us?" he asked, half-joking. Unfortunately, the lack of expression in his voice made him sound quite serious. Tifa recognized his tone though, as plain as it may have seemed to any other, and she smiled widely in her own amusement.

Yuffie turned around and spotted the two beneath the awning. "Heya, Vinnie! Where were you? I haven't gotten to visit with you yet!"

"…I took the liberty of stalking your people, and found myself a good meal."

"Really?!" Yuffie's eyes widened. "I knew it!"

Vincent rolled his eyes (Yuffie didn't notice that) and crossed his arms as he leaned himself against the wall. It's not that he was mean to Yuffie…he usually had just ignored her in the past, because she had done strange things like hang all over him and play with his hair…and pout and attach herself to his legs, like a child does when they don't want a parent to leave…and tinker with his arm. And now he knew why. He thought that maybe, just maybe, if he stood out there long enough, she would get uncomfortable on her feet and decide to finally see them off. Vincent ignored the roughness of the wall on his soft back and tried to get comfortable.

"So!" started Yuffie, "Where are you guys off to now?"

Tifa looked at Vincent, who was already glancing in her direction, waiting for her to make the reply. After all, this was her trip, wasn't it? But then again, she hadn't known what she was looking for or where she was going when she set out, so she was at a loss for direction. 

She'd already followed the journey up to the point where the group had been ready to go to the Temple of the Ancients. But there was nothing there, and even though they could go to pay their respects, she feared that Cloud might be there. This was one of the reasons she had paid her respects to Aeris before leaving; she was going to steer clear of anything that had to do with the Ancients, just to make sure that she didn't intrude on Cloud's own search.

The group had gone to the Gold Saucer before that…and that would be a good place to just relax and forget everything for a while, but somehow, she doubted that Vincent would want to go there. But Yuffie was right; she did need a break…from her break. Then, she got an idea.

"Icicle Inn," she stated.

The other two turned their heads toward her in unison. Tifa looked at Vincent, ready to offer an explanation. "I know that what I've been looking for is an adventure, but Yuffie has made me realize that I need to take a break from that for a bit, and just take time out to relax, and think things through."

"That's right!" said Yuffie. "Ask yourself what you really want. Then maybe, that's what you're missing, right?"

"…Maybe. Thanks for all your help, Yuffie."

"Anytime. Don't hesitate to call me up or drop by. You guys have fun on your trip now. I'm going to go find Chekov now and tear her up!"

Tifa winced, then smiled. "Poor Chekov."

Vincent was already headed out of the city. Tifa turned back around to where he had been only to see his retreating form. She rushed to catch up with him, calling her goodbyes out to Yuffie, and they made their way back to the Bronco.

"…There should be enough fuel to get us to the inn without any trouble, and a little left to spare. We will need to find someone there who can sell us some more though, before we try to head anywhere else."

Tifa nodded and strapped herself in. Vincent had taken a step towards the passenger side once they had gotten to the plane, but Tifa had stopped him and made him drive. He thought she should learn how to handle the plane, and that it wouldn't take much time before she was good with it; she had already decided that she didn't want to try anytime soon.

The plane rolled forward and picked up speed, and soon they were heading north towards the Icicle Village. Tifa looked over at Vincent, who was now silent, his eyes fixed on the horizon. No matter what kind of a task he was doing, even the most mundane of things, he always looked deep in thought- even when he was caring for his firearms, which had always seemed to her to be a second nature of his. 

Tifa took this opportunity to get a really good look at Vincent. She studied his profile, and tried to remember the way that he had looked in the book she'd come across the previous day in Cid's house. She followed the outline of his head- from what she could make out through his hair- to his nose, and then down to where his chin would be, and she tried to imagine what his face would look like without the cloak covering it. She marveled at his pale skin and hair dark as night itself; it seemed so unnatural, and yet so wondrous at the same time. 

When her eyes trailed back up to where his hair overlay his bandana, she noticed his red eyes staring back at her. She wasn't quite sure what to say or do; he'd caught her checking him out without a good reason…but then again, as far as she knew, he hadn't known about the book she'd found, and wouldn't understand her sudden curiosity. 'Must think I'm a real nutcase,' she thought to herself. 

Her eyes stood still, watching his swim with what appeared to be red liquid, though they didn't seem to be excessively wet at all. The awkwardness grew as they continued their staring contest, neither one budging an inch; Tifa because of shock, and Vincent because he didn't feel the need to, and perhaps he was still searching for something in her face to tell him why. It wasn't much longer before Tifa broke away and turned her eyes briefly to the blue expanse beneath them. Only seconds later, she returned her eyes to where they had been, and Vincent's gaze was back out on the horizon, where they had been before she had caught herself staring at him.

Her face flushed a deep pink, and she hoped he hadn't noticed. She almost wished she hadn't found that book; it'd definitely changed the way she looked at him. Suddenly Vincent was an even bigger mystery than he had been before. She wanted to know what had upset him so badly, and what had made him stay so youthful…she wanted to know about the woman in the cave, and she had wanted to know why Hojo had hated him so much.

Tifa really had no idea what the depths of Vincent's pain had been. Being around her had almost forced him to act in a way that was not natural, but he had kept himself around for her sake, letting her lead him across the world even though he already knew that whatever she was going to find, it was already there. She just had to look inside herself…

The landing was smooth as ever, and the white snow blanketed the entire mountain. This was the only place on the entire continent that still had a heavy snowfall, even though the winter season was just ending. And it would continue to have a heavy snowfall all year long; it was some child's fantasy come true, a real winter wonderland. 

Tifa's breath fogged up the glass as she watched the snow falling on the trees outside. They were just outside Icicle Village, and hadn't far to walk. Tifa watched all the flakes fall and tried to imagine the millions of patterns, no two alike. 

Vincent's voice came from beside her, and she turned around in her seat. "…We…will have to find you something warmer to wear…"

She nodded, a bit self-consciously, remembering the time Cid had leant her his jacket on the way up to the Northern Crater. She didn't want Vincent to have to worry about her freezing to death because she preferred clothes that were most comfortable on her, rather than opt for a more modest design. Not that she could assume he would worry about her. She silently told herself she was thinking way too much about the situation at hand and that she should just let it drop.

Vincent watched her as she stared off into space, apparently lost in thought. Her quiet wonderings at him were not surprising, given the way he skulked around and hid himself away, plus the fact that she'd found a book with his old picture in it. Maybe she had figured out some of his past on her own? The story of his death to the world wasn't the worst part; it wasn't as if he had shot himself. He was still ashamed that he hadn't been able to do anything about it, but the part that still nagged at his consciousness the most was the effects that it had on him now.

Somehow, whenever she wasn't talking to him, his thoughts kept going back to their previous patterns, like before.

Her eyes darted back to him, and she managed a smile, which he caught sometime between his thoughts on the picture, and his thoughts of how much he wished he hadn't been dwelling on it. "You ready to go in?" she asked.

He looked at her for a minute, and she started to become uncomfortable again. Had she said something to upset him? She didn't think so. She'd only said one thing to him since they had gotten there…

Vincent was contemplating his next actions. If it hadn't been for the image he'd built up over time in AVALANCHE, he'd have simply thought it no big deal. But as things were, he'd be exposing himself in more ways than one. But she already knew anyways, and he couldn't let her just go out there like she was, no matter how short the trek would be…

He decided he just didn't care anymore.

He reached up and unfastened the clasp on his cloak, and handed the material over to Tifa before opening his door and sliding out onto the ground. "You will want this." He turned away and began to mess with the top of his shirt, as if he was trying to make sure it wasn't open at any point, which it wasn't. Then he left the vehicle, Tifa staring after him in shock.

(A/N): Hmmm….I know exactly where all of this is going now. I've got it all planned out…which makes me want to forget all of my coursework and just write on this until it's finished, but alas, I cannot. Like always, I'll try to get these chapters up here as often as possible. Reviews are much appreciated! Oh, and from now on, if you sign anonymously, please leave your e-mail address, because I'd like to start thanking everyone personally for all of the nice things you've said about my fic… 


	16. Security Cloak

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 15:**

**Security Cloak**

By Darknightdestiny 

Vincent walked up to the counter at the Icicle Inn, Tifa following quietly behind him. She was still in a mild state of shock, and she hadn't even said anything to him about it yet. His eyes wandered about the workspace behind the counter; there was no one attending the position. He turned around and leaned against the counter, his elbows propped up on the surface.

Tifa watched him from her vantage point beside his still form. She could now see the way his bangs fell over his face and framed it just so. They were much longer than they were in his youth…she felt strange thinking of it that way…but they stole her attention either way. She decided she had to stop this. Any moment he would catch her, and then she'd want to apologize for doing the same thing she was just doing less than half an hour ago.

As she was thinking this, a short and pudgy man came out of the back room and settled himself at the counter. Vincent righted himself slowly and turned around to face the man. He cleared his throat and spoke rather softly but with a purpose.

"We will need two rooms…"

"Sure, I can do that for- hey….never seen eyes like that before! Where're you from, son?"

Tifa looked up at Vincent, unsure of what she should be doing. She'd never heard anybody actually comment about Vincent's unusual appearance to his face, much less start asking questions. She wondered what he would do…

"…with showers…" he continued, ignoring the man's questions.

The man just scratched his head. "Uh…okay!" he wasn't going to push the matter, "How long'll that be for?"

Vincent glanced over at Tifa, who looked like she was not quite ready to answer that question. He then turned his gaze back to the man.

"…We will return." He walked away.

Tifa, unsure of what just happened, followed him to the fireplace where he stood in front of the mantle. After watching the flames for a bit, he turned to her, expectantly.

"I guess you're wondering how long we're staying?" she asked, a bit nervously.

He nodded.

"Do we have to decide that right now?"

He shrugged.

Tifa couldn't help noticing the way he was standing, rigid as ever with his arms folded against his chest. He turned back to the fire and they immediately relaxed by his side.

"Vincent?" she asked. 

"…" He did not turn.

"Hey there. Do you think I could get a look at you when I have something to say?" she asked lightheartedly as she walked around to his side.

He could have said 'No,' or 'You have already had plenty of chances to look, it would seem,' or anything else along those lines, but he didn't. Instead he turned to her like he was before, his arms folded across his chest again, like he was putting up another wall to keep her out.

"…I have…been thinking about many things."

"A gil for your thoughts," she offered.

"It is nothing you should worry about."

"Vincent, if something's bothering you, I'd be happy to listen…" her voice was soft and sympathetic now, even though she didn't know the thoughts that plagued his mind.

"…You will need something warmer to wear," he said finally.

"Oh. Yes, I guess I will…if that was it, you could have just said so. Alright, well I'll go and find something…will you take care of the rooms?"

"Yes."

"Alright, so I'll meet you back here then. I'll see you in a bit."

"…You will need money."

She smiled up at him. "I have money." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't worry, I won't keep you waiting too long." Tifa walked away towards the ski shop.

Vincent walked over to the counter and cleared his throat again to get the attention of the man working. "…We will be staying for three days. If we decide to extend our stay, I will be sure to let you know. You can move us to another location, if you wish…"

"Well, alrighty! That'll work just fine…I can put you in…rooms thirty-four and thirty-five." He handed Vincent two keys. Just tell me if there're any problems…"

Vincent nodded his head and walked away. He already liked this man much better than the one at Rocket Town. Not that it mattered to him anyway; it was more like he was the least irritated by this one, given that he didn't make any rude insinuations about him and Tifa.

Just as he was thinking this, he spotted the woman in question in the shop window, still looking at the coat rack. He walked inside the store, trying to attract as little attention as possible- he'd already received several glances from the various guests because of his golden claw-hand. He stood near the doorway to the shop, watching her for a minute as she ran her hand along the fabrics, looking for the perfect match.

He stepped forward and held the key out for her at eye level by the numbered card-chain, so that the golden key dangled down in front of her. Finally she caught sight of it and saw whose arm was attached to it. Stepping away from the rack, she reached out and took it from his hand, smiling softly at him. She had decided the best thing to try to do around him would be to act natural.

"Thanks," she said. "I've found the one I want…you can have this back now," she offered as she began to remove the cloak. "This thing is heavy…and I felt a little lopsided in it."

'I cannot believe I let that slip my mind…' he thought- the book, of course. He took the bundle of satin and metal from her and discretely slipped his hand inside to make sure the book was still there, held by one of the metal straps under the folds. He wasn't quite ready to tell her that he knew yet, and he didn't want to embarrass her. It was there, as he'd hoped.

She gave it up, a bit sad to let go of the warmth they'd both left behind and the scent it carried, pine and gun smoke.

"…I will be upstairs in my room."

"Uh…where is it?"

"Room thirty-five. It is right next to your own."

"Oh, okay. I'll just finish up here and then I'll be up." 

Tifa turned over and over again on the bed. She looked over at the radio-clock, which still flashed the time of late afternoon. She couldn't think of anything to do, and she didn't have any idea of where to start when it came to figuring herself out. She'd already found herself some warm clothes and taken a shower, and she'd already sat by the window and watched the snow fall sporadically for about half an hour.

'What to do, what to do…'

Vincent heard a knock at his door. He hadn't been expecting anybody's company, but he naturally assumed it would be Tifa, so he got up from the bed and went to answer it. When he opened the door, he found himself facing some strange kid with scruffy hair.

"Good evening, sir. Would you like some extra towels?"

Vincent shook his head and closed the door. Then he went back to bed.

Five minutes later, he heard another knock on the door. He hadn't asked for anything, and so he again assumed it would be Tifa. He got up from bed and went to answer the door.

It was the same kid with the scruffy hair.

"Sir, a complementary bottle of wine for yourself and the lady you came with?"

"…No thank you," Vincent said, and reached for the door. The kid stuck his foot inside to stop him.

"It's on the house."

Vincent sighed and took the wine. The kid held out his hand, expecting to get a tip.

Vincent shut the door.

Tifa lay there in her bed for about forty more minutes, not even thinking about Vincent this time. She had one leg propped up, and the other was stretched out before her as she played with the leather of her new black pants. After that became boring enough, she started to play with her long hair. Try as she might, she just didn't know what she had left to find. She didn't know what she was searching for, or why she wasn't satisfied with life in Midgar. Wanting to get some fresh air, she hopped down from the bed and pulled her new white, fleece hoodie over her head and then pulled on her boots. Her gloves, she kept equipped to fend off the cold.

Tifa walked over to the door and pulled it open, letting the cooler air drifting down the hallway refresh her skin. It felt so nice that she decided she would go for a walk. Looking at the door across from her, she wondered if she should ask Vincent to join her. It might be good for him, and maybe she would get to ask him some questions, although…he might not be too receptive to that idea…

Throwing caution to the wind, Tifa went over and knocked on his door.

Vincent sat up in bed. He would try once more, just one more time. If it was that kid at the door again, he would stop right then and there and go to sleep. But…he had a feeling that Tifa might want someone to talk to. He probably wouldn't have much to say, but he was willing to lend an ear. Reluctantly, he lowered his feet to the floor and walked over to the door…

And was relieved to find Tifa standing in front of him.

"Vincent…I was just going to go out for a walk, and I was wondering if maybe you would like to come?"

"…" Vincent thought about this for a while. Maybe he could help Tifa out with the sorrows she wouldn't admit to having, and on the plus side, he wouldn't have to deal with that kid, should he come around again. Then again, if he did, he could just go ahead and tip him…with his claw-hand…

"You don't have to come if you don't want to. I was just thinking, since I don't usually get to spend time with you…I mean, until a few days ago, I hadn't even seen you in five months, but…I don't know. Maybe you'd like to just…walk? Talk?"

"…I will walk with you."

"Thanks, Vincent."

He followed her out the door and they walked down the hallway and out the front door.

"Vincent, can I ask you something?"

They had been walking for a while, just around the town and on the outskirts, eventually wandering near where they had left the Bronco. All this time they had been in silence, and it was starting to make Tifa uncomfortable. She was used to Vincent being more silent than most people, but she was a very expressive person, and she had hoped that he would start to say more to her than just the simple replies he was used to giving. It seemed that whenever she was around Vincent, everything was simply what needed to be done- business. Not unlike the Turks…

"…You may."

"And you'll answer me? Because I want an honest answer."

"…If I answer you, it will be honest."

"Vincent, why did you come with me?"

"If I recall correctly, you did ask me to come along…"

"I know that, but what made you agree to come?"

"…You want an honest answer?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

Vincent bowed his head and watched his feet as he walked. He'd said he would be honest, but he wasn't good with choosing words; he knew what he wanted to say, he just always seemed so cold when he said it. It wasn't his fault; usually having a cynical viewpoint on life will eventually affect other aspects of a person's personality. But the whole reason he had come along wasn't because of cynicism, or at least, not towards her. He did still believe himself to be a lost cause.

After a while he was finally able to let all these thoughts sink in, and he replied with, "It was something to do." 

He could have told her that he had wanted to help her find herself again, that it hurt to see someone as kind as her lose her sense of direction, or even that he was beginning to feel a care towards her as a friend- a friend he didn't feel he deserved to have. He didn't want someone like her to feel his emptiness.  But to hear that from him might have given her a heart attack.

"Oh," she said. She sounded a bit disappointed, and he could tell by the tone of her voice.

He felt that he should amend for this, and so he added, "I will…elaborate on that answer if you will answer a question for me."

"What is it?"

He hesitated. He was wondering if he could pull this from her or if she would keep it a secret from him. "…Why the sudden curiosity in my face?"

Tifa avoided the answer to that question, just as he expected her to. Instead, she tried to distract him with a compliment, as sincere as it was. "You should show it off more than you do."

"…Why do you say that?" His voice was low, like he was trying to tell her that she was wrong to think so.

"You have a nice face, Vincent. I can't understand why you hide it."

"…"

"Am I right? I think you know that I am."

"…I have never been one to judge by appearances, Tifa. Though presentation… that becomes an entirely different issue."

"But what does that mean? When I talk to you and you're wearing that thing, I feel so far away from you."

"That is the only way you have ever known me until today. How would you know the difference?"

"So you put the wall up on purpose?"

"…Presentation. Why pretend to be something I am not?"

Rather, he was denying himself of the things he could be, while Tifa didn't even really know who he was. But Vincent, who was ever the silent observer throughout all of their past days spent together, knew many things about Tifa that she probably didn't even realize herself. They had both lost their way, and each thought they were there to help the other.

Tifa sighed. "Fine. So, will you tell me why you agreed to come along with me?"

"…I do not believe that you answered the question I posed."

"Yes I did."

"That was not the answer I was looking for."

"I am never going to get a straight answer out of you, am I?"

"…Maybe if you try harder…"

"That's not very nice."

"…"

Tifa sighed again, this time in defeat. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

Vincent waited for a bit, thinking about the offer.

"You know, sometimes you just come out with what you want to say, be it as harsh as it sometimes is," Tifa said, "but sometimes it really does amaze me how much time you can spend on one trivial decision."

He smiled underneath his cloak. If he had only left it off, Tifa would have been able to see it.

"…Dinner would be nice."

By helping each other, they could help themselves. It would only be a matter of time before they began to understand this, their new purpose.

(A/N): Ahem…tell me if Vincent's character seems to be moving to quickly. Even if it is…there's going to be some backtracking as well…he's not going to move forward at a steady pace. Why? Because he is who he is. ::smirks::

Reviews are appreciated, as always. Thank you for reading my chapter!


	17. A Reminder

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 16:**

**A Reminder**

By Darknightdestiny 

Tifa tried her best to get to sleep that night, but she couldn't. There were too many things weighing on her mind, and no matter how hard she concentrated on falling asleep, her mind kept wandering back to dinner, and her conversation with Vincent. And she knew that as long as she was actually trying, it would never work, because the only way to get to sleep was to relax and just let go.

It had been an interesting conversation…sort of. More or less, it was one-sided and with hidden intentions on her part, which were quickly recognized and shoved away on his part. She had ventured a few questions about why he always kept his face hidden, other than the fact that he was setting a wall around himself, which didn't even need to be said, and about why he was always so quiet. She felt he needed to open up more, and he had felt he'd already made enough change to appease her, but he hadn't said so.

He'd removed his cloak to eat his dinner, which they had taken from the restaurant and brought back to the inn on account of Vincent's uneasiness around large groups of people. Tifa had resolved not to stare this time and instead focused on eating, which also led to the sparseness of conversation. Her thoughts eventually led her to that certain uneasiness she was always able to recognize in him, and she wondered why it was so. Vincent never seemed the kind of person to fear much, and he hadn't seemed to be the kind of person who cared what other people thought of him. He seemed more uncomfortable with himself than with others.

They'd polished off the rest of the wine and he'd sat facing her, his arms crossed before him. She wasn't going to ask him any more questions about his mannerisms, and she certainly wasn't going to dare asking him anything about his past. He'd even begun to look uncomfortable under her own gaze, and she'd never seen Vincent become shifty so…naturally. She'd figured it was because of something she'd said earlier, and wasn't going to chance losing what trust she might have earned from him. After a while she'd come to see him not as the fearsome death-bringer she'd known before, but as some fragile creature that paraded in his shell…something that she could easily scare off.

She'd wanted to help him, but he was being so difficult! She knew he was a person just like herself and had feelings just like her own, but she couldn't help wondering if all that he'd done so far was just to appease her and not because he really cared. But if he hadn't cared at all, then why would he want to appease her? Her thoughts began leading her around in circles, and eventually, she drowned herself to sleep in them.

Tossing and turning…writhing in agony, the bed- no, the table- beneath him so hard and cold, like the surgical implements laying across his chest. Thick metal shackles were his restraining vices, and the crude tools laid out before him, his chest serving as their makeshift table, only served to mock him and clearly tell of what was coming. He had never known such a fear before in his life, but now everything was so uncertain. He couldn't remember…

One faint shot, the sound echoing over and over and growing louder each time.

…That's right…but then how? Glaring beams of light shone down into his eyes and blurred his already waning vision. His blood began to run hot with dizziness, and yet he did not come even close to passing out.

_"…Because I want you awake for this…"_

No voice left to scream with, he braced himself as he felt cold and icy knuckles dig into his ribs as they grasped the heavy tools. Things used to maim…things for butchering. His skin made sensitive to the lightest touch with chemicals and new plasmas- things he wasn't aware he even had yet- his eyes grew wide when the first cruel blade cut its way inside of his trembling body.

He'd have screamed, but his vocal chords had been temporarily severed, in a half-completed attempt to accommodate a newer range that had yet to be added. His head shot back and his mind did all the screaming his fiery throat could not; his skull felt like it was going to bust open with the escalating pressure. He felt blood bubbling beneath his skin, in the hollow of his neck. Each sound of metal hitting metal, the implements rising and falling to the table next to him, one after the other as they were discarded and retrieved, threatened to drive him insane.

His muscles tensed with each coming spasm as his exposed nerves were clipped and tweaked, disassembled and reconnected, and as they tensed, his bindings cut into his skin leaving bruises and scrapes, even breaking some of his skin. All of the pressure, building…rising…he thought he was going to burst, despite his chest cavity already being open. He could make out the blurs of red and white beneath him, but his head was so restrained that laying on his back, he could not see the events clearly. The only thing he could see, the only thing that lay ahead of him, was that bright and blinding surgical light that hung haplessly above his struggling form.

He fought with every breath- fought against the pain, fought against his restraints, fought against each and every sharp prick and tearing. His eyes burned with tears and fury- and something else that he didn't quite yet recognize- but he could not hear his own screams, only the sharp intake and release of air coming from an open mouth, ripping through a half-open throat. He arched his back against the pain, the pain made so purposefully unbearable by the hands that made his poisons, until a hand reached out and forced its way inside his hollows…and broke something.

There was a snap, and his body went limp.

As time went on, each procedure became worse and worse. After the initial operation, even more chemicals were added, and the cuttings became fiercer as the wounds started to heal over. Loss of his life no longer a problem, his tormenter could break him…reshape him…in any way he wished.

But those first scars would never leave him, forever there.

Forever…a reminder.

Tifa awoke, feeling rested. Once she finally had forgotten all about Vincent and his unvoiced troubles, she had been able to get some sleep, and now she was ready to face the day. She jumped out of bed and headed for the shower again, needing the hot of the water against her skin to combat the cold weather outside. Now that she was out from under the covers, the heater just wasn't enough.

Vincent stood up from his bed and winced at the bright sunlight coming from the window. He strode quickly over to the pane and shut the blinds, blocking out the rays, be they ever so soft. He wasn't quite ready to face the daylight; too many bad memories had resurfaced earlier that morning.

He walked over towards the bathroom and stopped, catching his reflection in the mirror on his way. He slowly went towards it, as if being pulled by another force. His head bowed as his arms came forward and grasped the edges of the small table that sat beneath the glass, and then he raised his eyes to meet the vision. 

He stared at himself for minutes in silence, not one expression crossing his visage. He was in deep concentration, perhaps trying to trick himself into believing that he was staring at someone else on the other side. He couldn't help wondering at the sense of unfamiliarity this practice had always given him; it was probably because he rarely looked at himself more than was absolutely necessary, but still…it made him feel detached from himself.

One thought crossed his mind, summing up his feeling on the whole matter. Looking back on his dark past and his thirty years as a sleeper, he came to a conclusion: he had never really led any kind of life. Everything seemed so…surreal. Like a dream, or in his case, a nightmare. He had never been normal even when he had been fully human, executing jobs that no one would have ever dreamed existed in real life, and all the while shutting his conscience away and waltzing blissfully through it, purposefully ignorant of the consequences.

Punishment, it seemed, was a means for bringing about cruel realization. Blissfully, dreamily unaware. He looked himself in the eyes, black beads swimming in pools of red…red like blood which shimmered with the reflection of light from the glass, the small light that still made its way through the cracks of the vertical blinds. Shimmered like thick, dark red stickiness with bits of glass in it.

Unreal.

He'd never been a real person, never led a real life. No wonder he had never known a shred of happiness, not since…her. But even then, good things came to an end and more so, were revealed to not be everything he had thought they were. What a waste…

He lifted the mirror off of its hooks and set it by the door, facing the wall.

Tifa checked herself in the mirror after exiting the shower. Her skin had grown pink from the hot water and she had overheated herself in her attempt to make it that way. However, she had a new problem, and that was the sudden cold that once again surrounded her! She grabbed the signature robe from the door and went towards the heater, reaching out for the turn-dial. Once the room was fairly heated again, she set to the long and arduous task of combing out her never-ending strands.

She pulled her hoodie over her head and pulled her hair out from underneath it, bending over and flipping it over the front of her head so she could place a towel on her back. She then flung it back over her head to where the towel clung to the fleece at her back and ran a brush through her hair a few times, making sure to catch any tangles she might have just made. She walked over to her bed, where she had laid her things out previously, and slipped her pants on, and her boots.

Vincent had just rid himself of his clothes and was ready to enter the shower when he heard a soft knock at the door. He pulled the navy robe from the bathroom door and wrapped it about himself on his way to the door. He unlocked it, but strung the chain from the door to the wall and fastened it before he opened the door a crack. It was Tifa.

"Uhm…hi," she started. He just stood in his place, his shoulder facing the door and his head looking over it, down at her, waiting for her to continue. "I've been thinking," she said, "and I want to go back to Midgar. Only for a couple of days, but I need to see how the bar is doing…" She couldn't even let go of that one worry for a week. "I'm a bit worried about Jolene and Will taking care of it all by themselves." Always worried about other people, always looking out for their interests. "I would really like it if you'd come…" she offered, hope hiding behind uncertain eyes. Looking out for him and his interests. 

He nodded, and didn't ask any questions.

"Okay, well…I'm going downstairs for a bit to see if they have anything interesting to do around here besides skiing. Maybe I'll pick up some pamphlets, or…I don't know. I just want something to do."

"…Alright."

"Meet me down there?"

"…Yes."

"Okay, I'll see you then." She walked away, her hair leaving a wet trail on the carpeted hallway.

Vincent stepped under the flow of water, his head down, not really worrying about whether or not the hot spray got into his eyes. He blindly grabbed for a washcloth from the rack and pulled it inside with him. Slowly, he began to clean the sweat from his forehead, giving special attention to the area that was usually covered with his bandana, before moving on to the rest of his body.

How long he had been standing there, he did not know; he'd zoned out for a bit just standing under the showerhead, lost in thought. It seemed to happen every morning, no matter how early or late he retired or no matter what he ate. Even if he didn't eat at all, which his new body could handle for certain periods of time, the nightmares still came.

He attributed this to the experiments Hojo had done on him; perhaps a block in natural chemical flow, or something else, like a hormone. Something to make him relive his fears when sleep claimed him, made his functions slow. But if that were true, then he should be having other problems with his emotions, right? He hadn't felt terribly different, save for the physical changes in his body, though there was a constant depression that followed him wherever he went.

But that, he decided, should be perfectly understandable. 

He leaned his head back and turned the lever, letting the water turn cooler and run over his face and his hair. He reached his claw off to the side and brought back some shampoo, working the rich lather into his hair before turning around and letting the water wash it away. Let it wash everything away.

Tifa walked up the steps two at a time until she found herself back in the hallway. She'd become bored waiting for Vincent to show up, and she'd found out all she could about the place and any attractions it might have had. It turned out there was nothing, just skiing, snowboarding and snow. Lots and lots of snow. 

Well, that was all right. She could just come up and get him herself. She made her way down the hallway where their rooms were located, and stopped outside his door. She noticed that a mirror had been placed outside his room since she'd left. Why, she didn't know, but she supposed it didn't matter. She lifted her hand to knock, when the door opened upon meeting her hand. She cautiously peered in, wondering why Vincent would have neglected to lock his door, being the type of person he was, so concerned with his privacy.

In fact, hadn't it been chained earlier? Then again, there had been that mirror outside his door, so whatever that had to do with anything might have been the cause of Vincent's needing to open his door. But still…she figured he would have noticed if it hadn't shut all the way, unless he was distracted. And knowing Vincent, he'd have to be quite distracted to let something like this slip. 

Still watching the room closely, she stepped in, not wanting to walk in on him undressing or anything like that. If she had remembered to call his name when she'd first opened the door, she might have brought him out from wherever he was, but since she was already far enough into the room, she figured it best to be quiet, lest he jump out at her unexpectedly. 'Unless he can tell who I am by my scent…' she thought. To be truthful, she didn't really know the extent of his abilities.

A few seconds later, her eyes had scanned the room and found no sign of him. 'Maybe he's downstairs looking for me, and I just missed him?' she wondered. She turned to go when she heard the creaking of another door behind her.

Startled, she turned around just in time to see Vincent emerge from the bathroom, wearing nothing but his black uniform pants, and dragging a towel through his hair with one hand. He noticed her immediately and stopped and on reflex turned to face her, staring, paralyzed in fear. Her eyes met his, and a shocked and apologetic look came upon her face, knowing that she'd done something she shouldn't have, which had probably caused this unfamiliar expression to arise in her companion.

"Vincent! I'm so sorry, I didn't…mean to…oh…" she trailed off as her eyes left his and fell downwards, to his chest, which, though otherworldly in beauty in its own right, held a secret he had been keeping for a long time.

Her eyes widened in shock as they trailed over his form, silhouetted by the faint light coming from the window behind him, but his features clearly visible from the light shining in through the hallway. There, just below the shadow cast by his jaw, and in the place that was usually covered by his cloak or his high-collared shirt, was a thin white line, paler in contrast than the rest of his skin. It ran all the way from his throat down his chest and stomach, to a spot just below his navel that she could see peeking over his low-slung pants, no longer held up by metal clasps. 

As the thin line traveled downward, it crossed a pair of horizontal lines that ran parallel to each other; one ran just below his collarbone from shoulder to shoulder, and the other was near the end of the vertical scar, running from one hip to the other, connecting the two. If Tifa had blurred her eyes on purpose, she would have realized that these thin white lines were barely visible in the light given off by the room, but as it was, her eyes were in clear focus.

Tifa gasped, a sharp intake of air, ready to say something, anything, but no words would have come even if she had gotten her chance. As soon as she opened her mouth, Vincent was already upon her, his human hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes grew even wider than they had been before.

Vincent swallowed hard, a pained expression clearly written all over his face. "…Please…do not scream…" he said, trembling as he asked of her, afraid to let go of her mouth, lest she do just that.

Tears welled up in Tifa's eyes and spilled over her cheeks and onto his hand, Vincent assumed out of fear, but they were not. She shook her head slowly, her wide eyes concentrated on his, letting him know that she wouldn't scream. Reluctantly, Vincent's hand slowly slid away from its place, and she backed up a couple of steps.

"Vincent…" she said, her voice quivering as she went on, "I wasn't. I-I… I wasn't going to scream." She looked at his weary stance, his chest sunken back and resigned, though still on edge because of her presence, shaking as it rose and fell. His arms hung limply by his sides, and his head was slightly tilted downward, distraught eyes peeking through long dark strands. One of his legs made a move to step backwards. More tears formed in her eyes and she put her own hand to her mouth, taking in another breath that she hadn't meant to be as loud as it was. 

"I…I'm so sorry, Vincent. I…" she began to whimper behind her cupped hand. "I'll go…I'm sorry…"

Tifa turned and walked as quickly as she could, mindful not to run, back to her room across the hallway. She slid inside the door and closed it quickly yet softly, and threw herself on her bed, burying her face in the pillow. She would cry for hours, and all she could think of was how badly she had hurt him. How she wished she hadn't gone back up those stairs…

She'd hurt him. That was the only thing that went through her mind as long as the tears kept coming. She had hurt him, scared him…broke something easily broken, something that hadn't quite mended from the last time it was broken. She cried even harder as the thought crossed her mind that there might be a possibility that it would never be healed again. And it was all her fault.

Vincent watched her go, knowing that she had run from him, that she couldn't bear the sight of him. He walked slowly over to the open door, cast a lowly glance at her door from across the hall, and shut his own. He leaned against the now-closed door, at a loss for a course of action, his mind racing with the inevitable fact that Tifa now knew one of his many dark secrets and the real reason why he was insecure without his coverings…

He brought his arms up around himself in an attempt to cover his shame, unable to hide it from himself, make the memory of it go away. He felt the familiar rise of blood in his throat and knew he was going to be sick.

(A/N): Domo sumimasen. Sumimasen! Nante imashta ka? I'm sorry! Please don't break my legs…I didn't mutilate him, honest! All I did was make him a bit vulnerable…and vulnerable…can be good for this story…oh, please. ::Falls down on knees with hands clasped in the air:: What! He's my favorite too! ::wails:: Don't hurt me!

On a more serious note: That was quite a chapter. Most serious. This characterization thing might be spiraling out of control, and I'm going to do my best to keep the beast known as OOCness locked up. I was very nervous about writing this chapter, and that last scene had my fingers shaking…probably took me so much longer to type it because of all the mistakes caused by my trembling! ^^; Sorry…I get excited. Also…

If I keep digging further into Vincent's psyche, well…I know this chapter was pretty dark. And it wasn't always such a pretty picture, so…let me know, everyone please, if I should change my rating. I might have to…and I don't want to get into any trouble.

Thank you for reading.


	18. Imperfect

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 17:**

**Imperfect**

By Darknightdestiny 

(A/N): I know this chapter is shorter than most of my usual ones, but this is where I wanted to cut it off until the next one…which I should be faster in updating. I apologize for leaving everyone hanging for so long…I had very bad writer's block, but talking to Rene helped me sort things out, and now I have it all ordered and set. Major thanks to her*. Drop me a review to let me know if you're still reading and haven't given up on me. I'll have one more one-shot aside from my Oct. 13th post, and then it will be back to my multi-chaptered stories until they are finished, unless I get another must-write idea. Which I might; my mind wanders. I consider this to be the reflection after the first major turning point in the story, and also the lead-in to the rest of the story, so I apologize if there's no action.

Vincent's back slid across the wood, his body sinking to the floor in despair. He lay slumped across the floor, one knee up and the other leg cast haphazardly out before him. His head was thrown back, supported by the door behind him, and his eyes were fixated on the ceiling, his mind wandering frantically.

Soon enough, his frantic wanderings sunk into a slow mix of depressed musings. His heart rate began to slow back to what it had been before she had entered his line of vision. At that moment he had lost himself completely inside, but retained his hold on his physical functions; his adrenaline had surged and it was fight or flight, but somehow he had kept a hold on himself. 

He was relieved he had not crushed her then and there when he'd reached for her face, wanting to keep her calm. It hadn't worked as he'd hoped, however.

He issued his shivering breaths into the air, his chest spasmodically rising up and down, the way one's chest does after having a crying fit; his own predicament was from a suppressed panic. He'd been so careful, not wanting to find out what would happen if one of them had seen.

He'd been so ashamed, felt himself to be unworthy of her presence in that moment. He'd told himself he would never let anyone see him in that position ever again. The scars, a reminder of what had been done to him, of what he had become, had shamed him enough by announcing his faults every time his eyes grazed their presence. But now he had a new reason for hating his body.

It wasn't the scars themselves, but what they stood for. If it had been any other cause- an accident perhaps, or the results from a heated battle- he wouldn't have been so secretive and on edge about his appearance. But even though many other men would wear their scars proudly, as a sign of their courage and their trials overcome, he would never wear his proudly. They served to remind him of his sins and he was ashamed. No man could ever be proud of being an experiment, something that had been toyed with, leant to be the satisfaction of a sadist's wishes.

And Tifa had been the one to see them. She, sweet and innocent Tifa, was the first person, other than his tormenter and his keepers, to see his true self in its entirety ever since his awakening. Almost.

Maybe one day she would find out, or perhaps he would tell her, if only to ease her own mind. She had no idea of what his past was like, the details of his torment. But he would never tell her the substance of his fears, the height of his humiliation. He would never tell her of the viciousness with which he was treated.

The scars were only from the first of many tortures. Since then, other experiments had left him with the ability to heal himself quickly, something that Hojo had used to his advantage. The madman no longer had to fear the possibility of losing his specimen's life or stability, and so this became nothing more than an excuse to butcher him further. The true tortures would never show on his body, hidden by his own new skin, healed within a matter of moments since their commencement. 

He would never tell her of the repeated incisions, the butchering, the sick enjoyment his tormentor received from his anguish, seeing his rival become nothing more than his precious new pincushion. He would never tell her of the satisfaction the twisted professor felt when mutilating him, taking his arm away. Sometimes when the cruel man had gotten bored or angry, he would take to cutting his 'new experiment' for release, like a child peels paint off a wall or pounds on a pillow. Science was merely his hobby; like a model plane or a carburetor, he would find his own glee in taking things apart and putting them back together.

Vincent let his human hand trail over his scars, tracing the raised lines with his fingers as he was seized by another vivid flashback. 

He saw no need to pass the substance of his dark dreams on to another, especially one he admired so much for her strength and good nature. There would be no tainting of her spirit, not if he could help it. He reasoned he would be no better than Hojo if he were to break her and give her his own nightmares. He felt his eyes grow wet, and pushed back his emotions.

He was at a loss for what to do about his current situation. He felt something stir inside himself when he remembered the way her face had looked when she had seen him. Was she…horrified? He had expected that, but looking back, he thought he had seen some pity in her eyes as well. He hadn't ever wanted anybody's pity, only to be left to his misery and undisturbed. They were supposed to be leaving for Midgar the morning after next, and he was going to have to address the situation some time before then.

He preferred pity over horror, but only because he didn't want to push her away. Tifa needed someone to be there for her, to help her through whatever personal crisis she was going through, and he was the only one who had nothing better to do. But she obviously didn't want anything to do with him, because she'd run away from him. He had probably scared her, frightened her to death when he ran at her. Vincent had no idea what he was going to do next.

Vincent brought his hand to his forehead, and lowered his neck, resting his head in his now relaxed grip. This was one of those times when he wished he could just simply disappear, or take back his existence. If he hadn't been so bent in his own pity, hadn't been content to stare at the back of a mirror from across the room, hadn't felt the need to banish it from his sight, he wouldn't have made the mistake of leaving the door unguarded. He'd been so lost in thought, he hadn't even bothered to check again, something he had done ever since he had become an assassin. 

He lifted his head back up again, leaned it back on the door. His hand fell from his face, back down to his chest, and as it did, it brushed his mouth and his senses were assaulted.

Salt.

Tifa lay on her bed, her sobs growing softer. She had been laying there for what seemed to have been half a day but was in reality only an hour and a half. She couldn't help thinking about all that had happened, even though she had tried her hardest to push it away from her mind. He had given her this look…a look of pure anguish- and not the physical kind-, something she had never seen coming from Vincent. She wondered to herself if he had ever given that look before and she just hadn't realized it because of his cloak.

She started to cry harder again when she remembered what he had looked like. If she were to imagine what Vincent's face must look like before he transformed, she would have thought up an image just like that. Pain, desperation, helplessness. He just seemed so lost.

She'd never seen him give that look before; she'd never had the courage to watch him transform, never even knew if he revealed his face when he took on the form of another being. He would always come out of the fray looking beaten and in tatters, but his cloak was always intact. He'd probably cast it off when he would realize what was happening, she realized now it was only so he would be sure to have something to cover up his scars, should his shirt no longer do the job. But she imagined that was what his face looked like; that must have been how he felt…

Inhuman.

She knew that he had held himself in low regards, didn't think himself worthy of other's company, but she knew he had come with her for her own sake. She couldn't understand why something so small would cause him so much grief, but then again, she didn't know anything of how it came to be, other than who caused it. That's why she had run; she didn't know how to handle herself, didn't know what to say. What could she say? She knew nothing about it. And she figured he would want to be alone. As it stood, one of them would now have to make the first move, and she was sure Vincent wasn't going to be the one.

What could she possibly say to make everything be alright again?

Would anything ever be alright for him?

She would at least try to restore things to the way they were when they'd walked into the inn…even if things hadn't been all that perfect before.

She'd been so embarrassed; he'd had her on edge ever since she'd brought him up from Nibelheim, but she wasn't ready to let him stay there and rot. He'd had her even more on edge since she'd found his old picture, and he hadn't even known about it…right? He just made her nervous for some reason, and he'd always made her feel inferior without even trying. She'd been making such a big deal to herself about all the small and senseless things she'd done since he'd joined her in her travels, just because being around him made her feel like she had to do every trivial thing just perfectly.

So maybe nearly crashing a plane wasn't exactly a small thing. But he'd been there for her, and helped her through it, even tried to comfort her in her panicked state.

And she'd messed up again, only this time, it was in a big way. And this time, she knew it would be up to her to fix it…and she was at a complete loss for how to do it. 

Nevertheless, she slid from her bed and wiped the wetness from her eyes, glancing at the mirror to make sure she wasn't too much of a wreck. She sighed at the redness she found there, and caught her breath a couple of times. Then, she got ready to leave.

Vincent's head shot up at the soft knocking at his door. He pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed his shirt off the bed; he had been sitting on the floor for almost two hours and had not moved from his spot, nor donned the apparel he'd laid out for himself. Now that he was up, he was beginning to feel a cramp in his back and the bed looked quite inviting. He thought about just ignoring the sound and falling down on the soft mattress, to let himself fall into the world of darkness. It was almost as good as disappearing, but just not quite as complete.

"Vincent?" came a hushed voice outside the door. Tifa had come to see him.

He couldn't fathom at the moment, what could have brought her there to talk to him after what had happened earlier. He was sure she would be too frightened to talk to him; everyone else always seemed to be frightened of him, just because of the aura that he tended to give off. He wanted her to know that he wasn't mad at her, but he just didn't have the heart to start that conversation when he knew very well that it might not end for a while, not to mention the potential it had for creating awkwardness.

"…Yes?" he replied, a minute or two later, not even sure if she was going to walk away any second. But he felt her presence beyond the doorway the entire time.

"Vincent…may I come in?"

He stayed silent for a bit more, not yet willing to give up his own comfort for the sake of her own need to comfort him, just so she could make herself feel better about it. Besides, he had decided he was going to break her of that dependency once and for all, not stripping away her kindness in the process, of course.

"I am tired," came the reply, and indeed it did sound weary to Tifa, who stood just outside the doorway, listening intently at the wood and hearing the soft rustle of fabric as he pulled back the sheets on his bed.

"Oh." Tifa felt a bit rejected. "Uh…I just wanted you to know, Vincent, that I-I…"

"…There is no need for that," came the muffled reply from inside the room.

"But I-"

"No." His voice was deep and sleepy, and she would have felt guilty for continuing to insist.

"Alright…I will talk to you later?"

Vincent wanted to avoid the situation, but he knew she would have to put her own conscience to rest, and he couldn't deny her that, because he knew what a guilty conscience could do to a person, even if it was only over an intrusion.

"Yes," he finally replied. There was no answer. He waited for a few minutes. "…Tifa?"

"…Yes?" Still there.

"I will come to your room tomorrow morning." He just wanted to be alone for a while longer.

"…Okay," she whispered, and he heard her hand slide across the wood as she left his door.

What had she come for? Was she wanting an explanation, or was she going to apologize? Why should she? She was going to say something, but he hadn't wanted to get into the details just yet. Vincent lay back on the bed and shut his eyes.

*By the way, she just got back into writing, and she's up on here now, so check her out: seasonofthepumpkin. She's got one fic posted, and it's great. There's another one coming, much longer, and I'm excited to see what everyone thinks of it. Personally, I think it's one of the best I've ever read, so you must watch for it.


	19. Holding Back and Letting Go

**Flirting With Death, Chapter 18:  
Holding Back and Letting Go  
  
By Darknightdestiny**

  
  


Drip…drip…drip…drip…

It was all that could be heard around the room, and it drummed into his skull mercilessly.

Drip…drip…drip…drip…

There were spots all around him; everywhere he looked he saw them. They were purple and blue, and pink, and they would come back stronger every time he shut his eyes and opened them again. His head was heavy and he wasn't even sure if he could lift it at all, and he had no energy left in him to do anything about it even if he could. The surface underneath him was hard, but it was no longer cold; the table was merely wet and slippery from his long struggle, as was the rest of his body. His shoulder blades slid uncomfortably against the sweaty surface as his head turned slowly from left to right, as if he could wash away the spots if he only led them out of his way of vision. The musty room air felt cool against his exposed skin, though inside he was on fire, and he could feel the legs of his pants sticking to him. He radiated his own heat throughout the area that surrounded him, as blood slowly drained from the open stump lying limply from his left shoulder.

Drip…drip…drip…rip!

In a quick flash, he felt the ripping of tendons and nerve threads, and then it was gone for a good while before it came again.

Rip…rest…rip…

Phantom pain…

It would end shortly enough, before his next shock came in the form of a cold metal, not yet warmed with his gasping breaths. He lay there, unable to move, hot and itching with a cold breath growing on his bare chest. He was soon lulled into a dull and almost peaceful pain from the inability to see clearly, his vision blocked by opaque flashes and his own long bangs that had fallen into his eyes and stuck there to his forehead. His eyes began to close, his dark lashes fluttering in time with the dripping of his own blood on the hard wood floor, each red tear bursting on impact like a bubble hitting the surface of a pool, only quicker and yet drawn out in its settling. He could feel his pulse beating in the pit of his stomach and out through the bottoms of his feet, down into the table, reverberating silently through the floor.

He was rudely awakened from his rest of vision, since the drugs injected into his brain refused to let his body sleep, by a sharp pain shooting up his left arm. This was not a phantom pain at all, for he could see the boxed shoulder of a white labcoat out of the corner of his eye as his head was turned to the right. He couldn't bring himself to turn his neck towards the source of the pain, to see what was happening, because each time he willed himself to watch, the pain would shoot up his arm again and he would wince as his face jerked as far away from the pain as it could.

It was cold again; his entire body was warm and overheated with struggle, mentally and physically, but his arm was freezing at the tip of the dismembered limb, and he felt a sharp tugging on the ragged flesh, like it was being pulled down and wrapped around the end of the bloody stump. There was a tight pinch, and the freezing feeling traveled up his arm and to his brain so quickly, it was like a cavity in his shoulder.

His temples felt like they were being skewered with an ice pick, and his teeth coursed with pain, the shock almost electric in nature, holding his head in position like the skin of a child's hand to a hot stove, unable to break free and gain back his own control. His arms offered little help in his struggle, the right being held down at the shoulder and wrist, and the left still held at the shoulder by a relentless metal band that prevented any movement, save for the constant arching of his back. His feet were held to the table, the soles against the surface of the slippery metal, chained around the ankles with the links running from his legs to the bottom of the table. He had just enough room to move them in such a way that he would brace himself against the pain.

There was more pinching, though it was almost numbed through the pain constantly drilling into his skull, as his skin was pulled down with pliers- not even a surgical implement- to fit outside of a new cold metal. A new stabbing pain took over, one that was felt through the pain in his head, but was separate from it; thick needles passed through flesh and pinned the skin to the metal, and he felt each twist as the pins were secured. He felt his socket being forced down to the table, and a loud banging echoed off the walls in the room, followed by a soft sound that momentarily reminded him of jangling keys or someone dropping a few dimes.

He heard a loud metallic banging and clapping sound as something was clasped around the end of his arm. It pinched at first, but then he couldn't feel it. He did still feel the pain in his lower arm, running up and down his fingers, though they weren't attached to his body anymore. There was a dull throb underlying the intermittent shocks of pain that came every few minutes, and his head was throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse, and there was a large, warm puddle of blood growing at his side and drenching his skin with the sick smell, mixed with a heavier scent of metal. The sticky liquid crept into his hair and down the waist of his pants as he lie there, his eyes staring past the spots, into the blinding lights overhead.

Footsteps made their way out of the room and the shutting of a heavy door was heard. He let his head hang back, his chin in the air, as he tried to adjust his eyes to the dimmer light behind him. Slowly, the spots started to fade away, and he blinked his eyes over and over again. When he'd adjusted to the light, he ignored the pulsing in his brain and the pain shooting down his legs from the struggle, long enough to look over and see what had been done to his arm.

Shocked, and moved to the point of vomiting, he let the bile run from the table and mix with the blood on the floor. His arm not only gone, but encased in a heap of metal and- he assumed- wiring, he took the chance of trying to move it. He tried giving his brain a command, but it was much too difficult to think under the circumstances. The digits did move eventually, one after the other, as he moved his phantom fingers. The sight held him in resignation, though it sickened him to no end. Never again would he touch another human being with that hand. To be taken from the world of the living, and then to be turned into something so…hideous…he wondered how far his tormenter would go.

The mix of the smells of blood, metal and vomit reached him through his state of semi-consciousness, but he couldn't move. His eyes rolled back into his head and he turned his neck to the right, resting his forehead on the almost dry metal, as best as his position would let him. The mess of liquid ran over the left side of the table, pooling further on the floor, mixing with the air in the room.

Drip…drip…drip…

Rip…rest…drip…

  


Unable to sleep, Vincent got up from his bed, shut the blinds and tightened the shower faucet.

  


Tifa wandered about the hotel, idly staring at the shop windows. She wanted to get the whole incident with Vincent that morning off of her mind, but she was unable to stop thinking about it. He didn't want to speak to her, even though he told her not to worry about it. She wondered if he'd always be uncomfortable around her after that.

It was growing dark outside, and she knew that the night wouldn't stretch on forever. Vincent would come to her room the next morning like he said he would, and she would have to look into his eyes. Maybe not...maybe he would avoid her eyes, so that he wouldn't have to remember seeing her cry. She was disappointed in herself for being so weak. She'd wanted to run over and help him somehow, make him see that it wasn't the end of the world, make him see that he was beautiful anyways. Instead, her own fear had gotten the best of her and she'd run away so that he wouldn't see her break down, unsure of what to do. There wasn't anything she could have said at that point to make the moment go away, but she felt like she should have stayed. But she'd left him alone.

The attendants began to close their shops, though a few of the gift shops had stayed open for those who wanted to grab something more before they headed off to bed. Tifa strolled down the hallways, watching the groups of friends in the lobby playing cards and talking or drinking; she saw how happy they were, and wondered if Vincent had ever been happy like that a day in his life. Part of her hoped he had, and part of her felt saddened at the thought that he'd have lost something very important if he had understood the value of human companionship. She knew Vincent wasn't heartless, but sometimes she wasn't sure if he'd ever known how to talk things out in a more intimate setting. She didn't know if that was what had caused a rift in his relationship with Lucrecia or not, but she hoped either way that he wouldn't be stuck like that forever.

After wandering around for a while more, listening to the jokes and the laughter floating around the room, she drifted even further away from the area heated by the fireplace to look out the window. Her footsteps were soft against the wood, the floor being wet from the melted snow that had been brought in on the bottoms of countless boots. She stopped when she reached the chilly pane, and watched as small, white balls of icy fluff fell from the sky. The white looked surreal against the darkening sky, still light enough to see the blurring of colors around the edges of the soft flakes. Tifa had always loved watching the snow fall when winter came to Nibelheim. It was one of the few memories she could carry with her that she wouldn't regret having in some way or form.

The lights in the lobby dimmed, and a few candles were lit around the walls before the electric lights were completely turned down. Tifa huddled down into her hooded sweatshirt, absorbing all the heat she could. Soon she began to feel the effects of the cooler air that was still nearest the floor; she wiggled her toes within her boots and found that her socks had somehow grown wet, or at least seemed that way, even though she hadn't gone outside that day. She looked to the top of the staircase and decided it was time to go back to bed.

She didn't think she'd be able to sleep, not after that morning. She hadn't slept the whole time she'd been crying earlier, and each time she thought about it, she had to fight to keep the tears away. She couldn't help herself; it was hard to not think about it. She knew that as soon as her head hit the pillow, she would lose control again. How was she ever going to handle the next morning?

As she was on her way up to her room, she passed the bar, which was still open. She looked inside and saw a few drifters and lagging guests, and after a short deliberation, she decided it was best not to join them. She needed real sleep, something that came natural to her. She had to think clearly about how to handle the situation, and she didn't want to make things harder on herself when the time came to remain calm, even though all she wanted to do was run over and hug him tightly, as if that would take everything back. She knew he probably wouldn't appreciate that contact coming from her, especially since the main barrier she'd inadvertently broken was the one he'd held over his body.

...But what else could she do? Tifa thought about this as she slipped underneath her covers and laid her head back against the pillow. She had always been used to communicating her thoughts through speech or action, the first being rare with Vincent, and the second being ever so subtle. The last thing she wanted was to be overbearing to him, and she certainly didn't want to be the one to drive him away, especially if it would mean shutting himself in the mansion for the rest of his days. Tifa sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to get some sleep.

  


The next morning, Tifa was awakened by a soft knocking at her door. Her eyes shot open in surprise as she realized that her time was up. She rushed to pull her clothes back on and checked herself in the mirror, mostly to see if she was doing well enough as far as keeping her emotions in check was concerned. She edged towards the door, fearing the worst. What if he decided he was angry? What if he reminded her of the simplistic steps of being courteous? She really didn't want to be lectured by someone she'd felt so inferior to, before she'd realized exactly how vulnerable he could be.

Even worse, what if he decided he was too hurt to deal with her anymore?

Tifa stepped up to the doorknob, knowing it was a "now or never" situation. She grasped the handle and turned it, the small metal object making a dreadful sound to her ears amidst the silence in the room; she felt the noise would be the proclamation of her impending doom, whatever that fate might have been. There was a squeaking sound of metal on metal, and a creaking of wood, before the door opened slowly, guided by her trembling hand.

When she'd gathered the nerve to look up from the ground towards her morning visitor, she found herself staring up into a pair of bloodshot eyes, red disks surrounded by shallow pools of wet pink. Vincent stood there, hanging on empty air, with his black hair falling over his face. His cloak was missing, though his shirt was fastened securely, high up on his neck. He stared back at her, through loose black strands, his face solid as stone and pale as death itself.

Tifa opened her mouth to say something, though she wasn't quite sure what it was. He lowered his head and held his hand up; his mouth opened slightly, making his uncomfortable breathing easier. He didn't want to talk about it, but he was resigned to the fact that she knew, and he would just let it be. She knew that from the moment she saw him appear without his cloak, but she still wished she could offer him some sort of comfort. She didn't know how to sense out his feelings, and she could only imagine what courage it must have taken for him to go to her. She felt her eyes growing hot.

Unwilling to let him see her cry again, she rushed forward and clasped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest until she could control herself.

  
  


(A/N): I was so tempted to just lengthen the first part of this chapter, rip it out and stick it up on my wall of infamous one-shots. But...I wanted to use it for this story, so...I kept it. Yay.

You'll notice that because of this, the fic is now rated "R". I'm not quite sure it warrants that, but I think it would be alright, as did my buddy Will...it was pretty graphic, and I think it's a good thing that I've put it into another level. I hope I don't lose a lot of readers over this. It's really not as bad as many others I've seen.

Anyways, I've been caught up in mid-term course work and moving into my own place, while my computer here doesn't upload files to FF.net, and so I have to do them all in the word processing program I have here and upload them from somewhere else. And I've got a job interview on Saturday. I'm not trying to make excuses...well, maybe I am...but I felt that I should explain my absence. I apologize for my lateness in this fic. I'd like to keep this going as much as I can, so I'll try to not put it off as much as I did. It's been about 18 days since my last update on this one...

Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed it. This should be the last of the really angsty ones for a while, so that I can concentrate on actually getting them together, and doing it realistically. Oh yes, it is far from over. You don't really think that by falling into his arms, she's going to fill him with an undeniable urge to kiss all her tears away, do you? Just...keep reading. You'll see.

~Rach

  
  



	20. Standing at the Floodgates

**Flirting With Death, Chapter 19:  
Standing at the Floodgates  
By Darknightdestiny**

  


  


Vincent looked down at the girl caught in his arms as her hold was pressed tight around him. His entire body tensed and he wished for her to let go. He was unused to this kind of treatment, and coming from Tifa, he didn't understand it. She was supposed to be afraid of him. She was crying after all, and he'd assumed this to be out of fear. He assumed her apology the last night at his door to be out of fear, and he thought that she had just been trying to fix a mistake that she had made, trying to make up for offending him, so that she wouldn't have to live with the guilt of exposing him for what he was.

But people usually didn't seek comfort in the very thing that brought forth their fear. What was she doing?

"...Tifa?" His voice was soft and worried, searching for something. He wasn't sure what her reaction was going to be, and for the first time since their last battle with the One-Winged Angel, Vincent Valentine was frightened.

"Oh, Vincent..." she cried into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to be like this. We were supposed to go find happiness. We were supposed to get something done, find a reason to go back home. I didn't mean to do this to you..."

His hands moved up to her shoulders and he grasped them firmly, and he started to pull her off of him, but she held on firmly. "Tifa, please. Let go..."

"Vincent, I can't," she sobbed, shaking against him. "Not until I make this right. I've known you for a while, and I can't stand to see you like this. And it's all my fault. Besides..." she let out a pitiful laugh onto his body, "I can't let you see me cry." Of course, she knew that this was selfish, especially since she had received her glimpse into his world of pain, but she couldn't even bring herself to expose one tear, even for the sake of his own comfort.

"Your guilt is irrational," he said passively, more to himself than to her, though the words were meant for her ears, and he had wanted her to get his point. In surprise, and even possible offense, she brought her head up and her eyes met his. Looking up at him, she forgot the hot salt running down her face. He smelled it dripping on her skin, and he felt that sick feeling again. He was the one who was guilty.

"I don't know how you can say that," she said in dismay. "I didn't even knock. I didn't feel right being there, but I didn't turn around. I should have let you be..."

"...That is your regret?" he turned his eyes away from her and stared off into space, directly to his left. He couldn't watch her break down like this in front of him. He'd seen it twice before; once she had cried over Aeris' death, the other time she had cried at Cloud's side when the Lifestream had spit him up on the shores of Mideel. But he couldn't bear to think that he was the source of her pain.

"Vincent...I never want to be the source of your pain, or anyone's." Apparently Tifa thought the same way. "I know that you've been through a lot, but I don't know anything about it. I can't pretend to understand, or try to offer anything more than my sympathy, because I don't know how you're feeling. You are the one person I could never figure out. I never meant to bring this out into the open, and I never meant to drag you into something you weren't ready for. Maybe you never wanted to bring it out, I don't know. But I'm sorry it had to happen like this."

Vincent closed his eyes. "Tifa, it was not...your fault..."

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed. She remembered him trying to pry her off. She was being so open, so honest with him, and he wasn't saying anything. She wanted him to at least acknowledge that she had a reason to apologize, so that she could try to fix something, anything, and in some way help the entire situation. "Vincent, I know I hurt you. I hate that I did that." She buried her face in his warmth again, her long fingers grasping the silken folds of his shirt, pressing in against his back. "I want you to be able to trust me..." she whispered. "I don't want to lose that."

Vincent took a deep breath and expelled it with a sigh, opening his weary eyes. "...Your curiosity has been sated, then?" Tifa nodded, and he felt her response through his shirt.

"Are you going to leave me now?" She loosened her grip and shifted herself against him before tightening her hold again. Vincent tensed even more.

"...If it would make you feel better." He already knew her answer to that.

"No! That...that would make me sad." She pulled tighter, trying to emphasize her point, the thought that she might be sending off a wrong signal never entering her mind. "Please stay. I know it will be awkward for a while, but I'd miss your company."

"...My company."

"...It's nice having you around."

"...Very well." His hands came down on her shoulders and he pulled her off in one fluid motion with the intent of turning around and going back to his room to spend his last day there in solitude before heading back to Midgar. Instead, his eyes took in a look of hurt from her, stung by his rejection of her apology. That was what she was feeling, even though that was not the reason that he had removed her from her position of comfort that she had so desperately needed. It was as if all of her frustrations had culminated and she finally needed to release them somehow. It had not been his intent to hurt her back, or to hurt her again; it depended on whether or not he was looking at the situation through his own eyes or through hers. He could be stubborn sometimes...

Definitely through his own eyes. He had not wanted to hurt her again. Because in his mind, he had already hurt her once.

"..." He looked at her hurt expression as she waited, wanting something. "What is it?"

She studied him. "I just want to hear you say that everything will be all right between us." He couldn't say that just yet. He didn't know what it would be like, having someone as caring as Tifa around him, knowing that he was hurting, and trying to make him feel better all the time. He didn't enjoy sympathy, and didn't like being made to feel helpless. That was definitely not what he needed.

"..."

"Vincent, I don't want things to be ruined between us," she confessed. "It seems like I've been working for ages to try to get you to warm up to me, and I could have sworn that you were starting to get comfortable around me, even though I've been dragging you all over the place." He didn't really mind, but her eyebrows creased with worry over it. "I don't want to have to start all over after that. I'd just gotten used to travelling with you, and I was starting to enjoy it."

He looked back to his left again in contemplation. Tifa still saw the need to make things better. "You know..." she started cautiously, "It doesn't bother me. It doesn't make me uncomfortable." No response. "I mean...I care of course, and it makes me hate him even more, even though he's dead...but I'd never look at you any differently." Still no response. "Because of that," she was quick to add. Why she was, she did not know. Vincent remained silent, still standing in the doorway. "Vincent? Vincent, speak to me. Are you going to be alright?"

Vincent bowed his head and leaned over, placing his back against the doorframe, on Tifa's right. He folded his arms across his chest and stared through half-lidded eyes at the spot where his foot was wedged at the bottom of the other side of the doorframe, where it met with the floor.

"...Vincent..."

"It bothers me."

"...I know."

Audible, plain, simple. A clear point. Tifa's face faulted again, and she thought she was going to break into a fresh burst of tears. Silence.

What bothered him the most was that it had been her. It didn't seem fair. She was just so understanding, so compassionate and accepting of everyone and everything, and he would never know exactly what went through her mind when she first saw his scars. Would someone as kindhearted as her- even her- be able to stand that? Would she go so far as to compromise the truth so as to ease his own discomfort? He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The shock written on her face still stuck out in his memory like a sharp thorn, and he reasoned that if he really knew what had raced through her mind then, it would most likely depress him to no end.

Vincent was the only one who remembered the pain that went along with the scars, and it still hurt physically at times, as well as emotionally, when he let himself think about it. It was just so fresh in his memory, and he still would not step into a hospital without feeling sick. If any of his friends were to understand his pain after only one glance at the simple lines that only appeared to be minor surgery scars, then they must have an extremely creative imagination. Tifa was already feeling sick from all the crying she had done, but the real reason she was crying was not because she realized any of the pain that he went through, because she wasn't told the entirety of the story. No one was. All she knew was that it caused Vincent a lot of pain, and so she cried for him. Vincent wondered what would have happened if he had reacted differently and not made a big deal about it. Would she have acted the same way, or would she still have been shaken up? But the design on his chest reminded her too much of the familiar pattern of a dissection lab- the ones she took in anatomy class- and if she had known the extent of her correctness in that generalization, she too would have been feeling as sick as he.

Vincent's red eyes gleamed with a supernatural brightness in the light which filtered through the windows of Tifa's room. They shone through and glinted, though his face was hidden for the most part by a cascade of ebony and smoke-tinted shine that feathered down over his visage. It had been her- she, the first one- the very first. She was not only the first of their own, but the first of anyone to see them. She was the easiest one to deal with, and she was kind and comforting, but that was part of the problem. He knew in his heart that she had already taken it upon herself to help him bear his cross.

He had almost wished that it had been someone else. Someone else would not have tried to tell him what they thought would help him, what was best for him. Someone else would have said exactly what was on their mind at the point in time when they were faced with the situation, rather than waiting to sort through panicked thought processes. Someone else would have told him what he really wanted to hear for now, and wouldn't have kept him guessing, wondering, unsure of what they had thought, and in fear of rejection.

...Even though rejection was something he had come to accept, and he had gotten quite used to the idea that someday he would lose all of their care, especially when they found out the things he had done to be so deserving of those scars...

Cid might have freaked out a bit, and then he would have asked questions. Cid was one of the older of the others and a male, so he would understand Vincent's hiding his emotions once he found out why. Cid was Vincent's opposite, loud, rude and boisterous, but he had a big heart. Cid always hid his emotions as well, but he did it by covering them with a tough image and his assertiveness and proud talk of the skies. Vincent simply shut his mouth and stood in the corner brooding. He knew that Cid's dreams meant a lot to him and that he had always cared for Shera. Vincent had always held a natural ability to sense out people's feelings. That was part of the reason he was helping Tifa; he had been genuinely concerned about her, though he would never say it.

Vincent understood what it was like to have something so wonderful and to always be in fear of losing it; Shera actually reminded Vincent of Lucrecia a bit, and he understood Cid's way of expressing his affection better than anyone would have guessed. It had been hard to hide his scars from Cid, because during their travels he always seemed to end up rooming with the pilot, because neither one of them wanted to room with Barret, who was chronically in a bad mood, wheras Vincent was just simply moody and wanted to be left alone. Cloud had been used to handling Barret's temper, and Cid and Vincent had gotten along well enough.

Vincent bit back a smirk at the image of Cid, staring across the room and shouting, "Shit! So _that's_ how you got those?! That bastard..."

The only other person that Vincent could have pictured was Yuffie. Perhaps this was because Cid and Yuffie were the only two people from their misfit band that he had seen since the Meteor incident, besides Tifa. For a minute, he imagined that Yuffie would have shrieked and ran away with the speed of a true shinobi, or else she would have just gawked at it. No...he knew better. Most likely, she would have scrunched up her face and said, "Eww," before walking over and poking at him. She would have followed this up with several questions involving a 'why,' 'how' and 'when,' not to mention the dreaded 'who.' Then she would have smiled a great big smile and acted as if everything was fixed, because in her mind it was. Simple solution to a simple problem.

...Or not.

Either way, the reason he would have preferred them was that they would have given him an excuse for his seclusive behavior. It seemed selfish, but after all it was a human impulse to justify one's own sins. Even though what he really needed was a change, needed to be pulled up out of his dark and bottomless pit of despair, he also felt the need to justify his existence.

They would have been able to enforce his reasons to brood about, causing despair and bringing doom and gloom to everyone else, and it would have justified his way of dealing with it all. He didn't want to find a new way of dealing with it all, mainly because of his fear of the unknown. He was just too afraid to take the first step.

Cid, with his heart and his anger, would have forced him to feel, forced him to stand for himself against the pain he had tried so hard to forget, but could not. Yuffie was not insincere, just blissfully unaware. And it was enough to make him feel completely alone. No one could feel with him, empathize with him or hurt with him, because they simply could not understand what he was feeling. This was despite the fact that there were people all around him, and despite his nagging suspicion all those months that Yuffie would enjoy the hug much more than he would, though she would be disappointed if he did not return it- which he had absolutely no intentions of doing in the first place- and she would probably be more than happy to use the situation as an excuse for just that.

Not like Tifa. Sweet, caring, compassionate Tifa, a true fighter with the heart of a warrior. She just would not give up. Though she had come to just accept things as they were when there was nothing to be done, she would work with whatever she could to make life better for everyone involved. She comforted those in pain and was always more concerned with helping her friends get through their trials and tribulations no matter how much of that pain was poured over onto her, and she wanted them to be at peace and to feel loved.

Vincent was never at peace, nor did he feel loved. He felt unworthy of companionship, unworthy of forgiveness. He could not see either happening for him. It wasn't that he didn't want those things; they just seemed so far away, as if they were never meant for him, destined to fall forever. He couldn't relate to the things she said, to the ideas she tried to spread. It was the one and only time ever since he woke up that anyone had dared to get close to him, but here she was, about to try that very thing, to sincerely understand him, to dissect his emotions and his troubles and help him re-arrange them in such a way that his world would make sense once again. He couldn't remember what that was like. And he did not know how to handle such a delicate situation, with such an emotionally fragile being.

"...Vincent?" Tifa called him out of his silent musings, bringing his weary consciousness back from its downward spiral into oblivion.

"...It should not have been you."

"...What?" Tifa wasn't sure she had heard him correctly, or that she even understood what she had thought he had said. Vincent sighed. 

"That was not meant for you..." he pulled his extended leg back to where the other had previously been bent up against the wall.

"...I don't think I understand. What wasn't meant for me?" she questioned, truly confused. She hadn't known where Vincent's thoughts had wandered in the last few minutes. He tugged at the buckle on his belt, idly searching for something to do now that he had lost his train of thought. She noticed this, read into every movement he made, because she knew this was how he spoke over half of the time. She watched his eyes half close again and trail down the black sea of silk on his chest, and she understood. "Oh...I see. I know that was a very private thing-"

"I did not mean to be so careless."

Tifa shook her head in protest. "Vincent, it wasn't your fault in any way," she stressed the point. "But I did see, and I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to." She didn't catch the look that passed over his face at that comment. "I just want you to accept my apology." She looked at him with hopeful eyes.

Vincent rolled against the frame so that he was leaning on his left side, rather than on his back. He crossed his arms again and lowered his face to where she could barely see his lashes underneath his long bangs. His voice was at a low whisper, barely audible this time. "...I know you would rather have not...there is no need to apologize..."

"Vincent, you can look at me. You don't have to look at your feet." The tension in the room was so thick, he could have sliced through it with one of his sharp metal digits.

"...I...am looking at the space between our feet," he corrected her, failing in his attempt to lighten the mood and shift the attention elsewhere. Light humor just wasn't his thing. Now, dark and morbid humor...

That gap between his feet and hers closed rather quickly, he noticed. "Vincent..." Tifa reached up and lifted his face so that they were at eye level- almost. "Please don't shut yourself off from me for the rest of our trip." She paused. "I miss what conversations we do have. It's been a whole day."

Vincent shifted against the wall again, uncomfortable under her gaze. He reflected idly that she obviously knew how to make people pay attention. In his case, this was a bad thing, because he did not wish to be thought about in personal terms. It felt so unreal to have her standing in front of him, talking to him about something she was never supposed to know. Talking about him, his past...even though she didn't know anything about it. He wondered if she still wanted to. He still had that book in his room; he'd almost forgotten about it. She'd said she was satisfied, her curiosity was settled, but did she still care about that? He felt a bit like a display piece, but that could be expected, given his situation. At least he knew that Tifa would never make him suffer. She would treat him as any other human being, no matter how inhuman he felt.

He reached out and gently took her wrist in his claw, making sure that she got the point, and he lowered her hand from his face. "...So it has."

"Vincent, would you like to get breakfast?"

"..." That had come from out of nowhere.

"...I know you might not be feeling up to it, but we should carry on like normal, right?"

"..." Would he ever be normal?

"Vincent, you can trust me. I promise...I won't make a big deal out of it, honest. Unless you do. Then I'll be forced to dissuade you out of your bad mood." She smiled at him. He could touch her with his claw, and she still did not flinch. Was she sincere in every way? Did it really not bother her at all?

Vincent looked at Tifa. She was probably the most loyal friend he had ever had, and that was including everyone he knew before his transformation into that...thing. She expressed a want to stay by his side, even though he'd been less than friendly, and even though he hadn't offered her much comfort in any of the problems she'd tried to confide in him. He'd always been a man of few words, and spoke through his actions. Somehow this had worked, because his presence eased her loneliness. Though it seemed quite strange to him that someone as lonely as he, and even in enormous crowds of people, could comfort someone who was loved by so many. And in return, she was willing to spend as much time as it took to help him with his own problems. But he'd known that from the moment she'd asked him to come along. He knew that she was doing this for his benefit, but now he knew that she realized she would be needing someone as well. As strange as Vincent felt being this someone, he could not deny Tifa the favor after all she'd tried to do for him regarding the whole incident.

"So what do you say?" Tifa was smiling at him, searching his eyes for a decision. The tears had dried to her cheeks, and she was trying her best, once again, to pretend that in her world, there were no such things as sadness or pain.

"...I suppose I should eat something."

"That's what I like to hear." Her grin grew wider. "We can go downstairs and pick something up and bring it here, or we can stay there if you'd like." He wasn't in the mood for another talk like this, at least not right away. But if it was inevitable, he would keep himelf out of such an informal setting. Still...he didn't want to be around the rest of the inn's patrons, either.

"...Outside." There was no hesitation, though he was still frozen in place.

Tifa grinned some more, and Vincent wondered if her face hurt yet. Of course her cheeks were sore; she'd experienced more emotions in the last few days than she had in the past five months. "Outside it is."

Vincent had left his cloak in his room, and he felt a bit awkward without it, but he decided not to mention it and avoided the subject altogether. He let Tifa lead the way, and together, they made their way down to the dining room.

...But not until Tifa had successfully removed her hand from Vincent's forgotten appendage.

  


  


A/N: Hi! Do you like it? I tried to make this situation work while keeping Vincent in character. I wonder if I succeeded? Much thinking in this one and not too much action or dialogue. Well...it was about time I updated this. What's next on the list? Ah..._Things Unseen_. Hmmm. Yes, I have a list. Is it so bad? It's located under my profile, haha. You have one, too! ::points the accusatory finger:: I'll just be rotating my four active fics until I finish them off one by one. I think I'll write another songfic or two in the meantime. And I've been meaning to write something dedicated to Cid. Maybe a fun short or something involving Shera and tea. ::shrugs:: We shall see.

That last line might have been a bit much as far as keeping everyone in character, though I wanted to emphasize that he was more lost in thought than paying attention to his actions...because that's what he usually spoke with and here he was being forced into speaking with words. So feel free to ignore it if you didn't like it. It can be easily disregarded and doesn't disrupt the flow of the story.

Actually...when I go back and read it, it sounds a little...wow. Haha. ::holds fist high in air:: I am on my way to a new level! Ah...just kidding. Maybe I'm just a pervert.

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! I'll do personal thank-you's and plugs at the end of the story, but we've still got a good ways to go. Let's see...Thanksgiving break is coming up...yay! ::tosses term papers aside and pulls out writing tablet and sketchbook:: Expect some updates from me that week. Unless of course, my roommate decides to monopolize the computer. That one might not even be in town though...::winks and crosses fingers:: Tiiiiiime for fuuuuuuuun!

  
  



	21. Fighting

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 20:  
Fighting  
By Darknightdestiny**  
  
  


'It was inevitable that this should come up again.' Vincent's gaze was directed towards the sky, and soft white flakes fell down and wet his lashes and forehead, but he had stopped his solitary rapture to glance out of the corner of his eye at Tifa. She had been watching him, and her eyes were currently set on the rim of his collar. Each time he caught her eye, she would turn her head to look at the snowy landscape that stretched out before them, but not in any hurry. She was trying not to be obvious, and she was doing a terrible job of it.

All Tifa could think about was how badly she must have made Vincent feel. She had done enough damage already, but she was convinced that she had made matters worse with her awkward display of sympathy upstairs. She deduced this from their deathly silent breakfast and Vincent's lack of eye contact with her, even when she'd attempted to break the silence. She could have heard a pin drop, and Vincent, with all of his enhanced abilities, still would not have noticed. 'Probably thinking about what I did...'

Even though Tifa had known Vincent for a while, she only knew so much about him. However, she had spent enough time around him to know that he avoided people's eyes when they did something to make him uncomfortable. Eye contact in general didn't bother him in the slightest, and Tifa had, in fact, found herself the victim of the fiery orbs burning through to her on several occassions. She had assumed that this was how Vincent evaluated people, read their thoughts, and their emotions...checked their sincerity. But when his gaze shied away from something, he was trying to avoid the situation all together.

She was sure that his presence at the moment was still a favor to her, and not because he truly agreed that he simply needed to eat something. How could anyone eat after that? She hadn't even felt like it, but it was all she could do to try to return some normalcy to their lives. She didn't care for any favors from him; all she wanted from Vincent was to see him act naturally, the way he would have if she had known all along, if she had been around all those years ago.

What would it have been like, really? What had his personality been? Had he always been this way? She wanted to know exactly how far and how deep his change had been. After all, she wanted him to be at peace again. She needed to know what it was that brought him peace; what was natural to him?

There was another uncomfortable, passing glance from Vincent as Tifa averted her eyes from him once more. 'Well, at least he's looking at me again. That's a start,' she mused. She glanced over at his breakfast plate, which lay idly on the table behind them. It had barely been touched. 'Liar,' she thought to herself, a sad smile breaking out onto her face. 'He will never do anything merely for the sake of his own good, will he?'

"If it troubles you, then you should say so." Tifa was snapped out of her daydream by the eerie calm of his passive voice.

'What?' "No...Vincent, I already told you..."

"Perhaps then, you would look me in the eye instead?" Tifa blushed furiously.

"Vincent, I'm sorry, but you're the one who spent all morning looking at your plate." She tried, but her eyes kept flicking back and forth. Vincent tilted her head back with his claw, once again using the metal object to prove his point that he made her uncomfortable by her reaction, and it made her look into his eyes rather than at his neck. Strangely enough, she didn't flinch, though he took this to mean that she was holding it in on purpose. He took a sharp breath in and hesitated.

"...Your sensitivity is appreciated. However...I will not have my intelligence insulted."

It was clear what her preoccupation had been, but she felt she deserved a chance to explain herself. Yet she worried that her attempt would make their situation even more awkward. "Vincent...that's not it. It's not that at all." She could see in his eyes that he didn't believe that for one second, and he regarded her with such an awareness and a suspicion that it hurt her and made her feel more like an outsider. She felt that this would take a few more words than that to explain. "...Vincent, I just..." Would he be angry? "I wish..." Could she really ask it of him? She sighed in frustration. Why not? It was better than having him feel like he disgusted her. "I wish that you wouldn't hide it like that." There was a silence. Vincent's claw was already back at his side, for he was now the one in control of the situation. And he was determined that if for some reason he wasn't, he would twist the circumstances to his advantage until he was.

Vincent shifted his eyes back to the yard, red irises trailing lazily over the snow. "...And how is that?" His voice was lowered in an almost mocking interest, quite possibly daring her to say what she had to say, prodding her to feel guilty about starting it up again, but he did not spit the words at her. He remained calm as always, with a passing interest, smooth, as if he talked about such things every day, lived with discomfort every single minute. He awaited her answer, but no longer in fear, because he had already made up his mind that he would not take pleasure in what she had to say, and so he would not be taken by surprise with anything that might be hurtful to him.

"...Vincent...you're so obsessive about it." And so he was right. He lowered his head and let a smirk slide across his face. It was a personality that he was now free to show, and somehow Tifa had anticipated that reaction, even though she'd only had a few moments to enjoy his face and get to know his expressions. "Vincent, they're not that bad. I have a scar, too..." She knew it wasn't quite the same, but she thought it was still comparable. "You've seen it before, everyone has. See?" She lifted her sweatshirt so that her stomach was exposed below her white training garment. "It doesn't bother me." Vincent did not take notice of her actions.

"You do not understand, Tifa...and I do not expect you to, nor do I require it of you," he said with the same detached tone. He did, however, want her to accept it, but in his way, with his thoughts about it, and with the same treatment he had shown for it. Not in her way, which was simply to easy for him, letting go of the entire incident like it never happened. He could never forget...she accepted so many things, so why not this?

"It makes it hard for me to understand you. Maybe things would have been different before if I understood why. I wouldn't have to wonder why you kept to yourself, and maybe I could have...I don't know, Vincent. I never would have guessed..."

"...Tell me something, Tifa." Vincent straightened his posture and his voice was now directed towards some point soon to follow. "What do you say to those who ask you how you obtained your scar tissue?" Tifa was silent; she wasn't expecting that. Right...if she didn't understand, he would make her understand.

"Sometimes they don't ask. I guess they don't want to...pry." She began to feel even worse about bringing this up. He had actually been the one, but it was her fault for staring. He only voiced what she was already starting in her mind.

"...And what of those who do?" His eyebrows were slightly raised in question, as if he already knew the answer, and he just wanted to hear her say it. Tifa deliberated for a moment.

"Well..." she started, "I guess I would just tell them I got it when I was a kid." Tifa knew better than to assume that this was the end of his questioning, but she could only hope. Vincent was not one to give up until he had proven his point, even though he was usually not so verbal about it.

"And they did not ask any more questions." It was more of a statement, though the question was implied. It was as if he wanted her to think she was misleading him, and to admit that it was not the end, out of sheer guilt. He did not want to make her feel guilty, but he wanted to make her understand where he was coming from.

It worked, and she continued. "I involved myself in something, or suddenly became busy. I guess...I guess I was doing the same thing you are doing now. But I don't let it dictate what I wear, and I don't put limits on myself because of it. And just because someone asks me something about it, it doesn't mean I have to give them the answer they want. Sorry..." He closed his eyes. Tifa always did that; she felt the need to qualify what she was saying with an 'I guess,' or 'I just,' or 'maybe.' "I know that you don't like to have attention put on you." Or she would negate it. He'd been waiting for that one. She was so sensitive to everyone else's feelings and needs that she would walk on glass just to avoid any possible offense, afraid to say what she was really thinking. This frustrated him to no end. Why couldn't she just be real with him? And this is what she expected from him...she might have been able to get away with it around other people, around Cloud, but Vincent never fell for it. She was so unsure of herself when it came to opening herself to others, even though she was expecting the same from them. He knew her better than she could have ever imagined.

And the scar...he'd caused her pain as well; how could he have so easily forgotten? He pushed himself away from the fence and turned to go. He could at least do her the favor of giving her a valid excuse, if nothing else. "...Next time," he said, as his voice faded painfully, "you may tell them that I gave it to you."

Tifa stared after him in shock. Had she done that to him? Had she really brought up something he was feeling guilty for without even realizing it? She was only trying to make the situation better, and somehow, she had made it worse. "Wait...Vincent, wait!" He stopped still, but he did not turn around, and she rushed to catch up with him, fighting the snow that clung to her boots and pulled her down, held her back. "Vincent, I really hope you don't mean that," she gasped out between breaths. "I don't understand why you think what happened was your fault, but it's not, Vincent, it's really not." This one thing she was sure of. "...You're not the one in the white coat."

'A blue suit is no better,' he wanted to say, but he would let her think what she would, if it made her feel better. Instead, he remained silent and shook his head before walking again. He did not feel like going into what he'd already implied to the rest of them before. He felt that all of Sephiroth's sins had been his own, including the disaster at Nibelheim.

"Wait, Vincent. Are you still going to come with me?" He glanced back at her over his shoulder once he had stopped again, and she hurried to meet him. "Because...if you still are, we have to find fuel for the Bronco today." He watched her face, her expression telling him that she was uneasy with a hope she was expecting to be destroyed. "Come with me. Please..."

  


The trip to the fuel station was uneventful. No more conversation passed between them, if only for the fact that Vincent was never much for conversation, and Tifa was once again treading on thin ice. She had received several chances, and she wasn't about to take another in driving him off.

The man at the station had been nice enough, but his friendly demeanor had slowly dissipated in the presence of the solemn pair. They had wanted to get the fuel and leave, but the machinery was to be operated by one of the shop's own mechanics, and they had no way of transferring the fuel from the shop to the plane. Consequently, both Vincent and Tifa had trudged back to the outskirts of town to get the plane, started it, then ran it around to the right of the town's back exit, and up the service lane. There had been no question as to who would be driving; Tifa assumed the passenger side of the vehicle, and Vincent said nothing as he walked to the driver's side. The entire process involved the measuring and mixing of gasses and several other combustible chemicals and so they were encouraged to go and spend their day somewhere else rather than to stay and wait. Vincent had left on his own, and even though this made Tifa nervous, she knew that he would come back; he'd gone with her in the first place, and that plane was his only mode of transportation off of the continent...and away from her.

Tifa went into the town to look around. She got some lunch later from the bar at the inn, and she watched through the windows as some children played in the snow. Eventually, though, this became boring for her as well. There wasn't anything new to see, and even if there had been, she had no one to see it with. The children reminded her of herself when she was young, playing in the snow of the Nibelheim mountains when it got cold enough. She had been alone for most of her childhood as well, but she had a few friends. And Cloud...how was he doing? She had no idea what he would find, or when he would come back, if indeed he planned to. It seemed that her whole life lately revolved around waiting for other people. She decided then, to just go back to the station, and assume her position.

When Tifa arrived, the fuel was still not ready for transfer, due to the long stagnancy of business in the area. They had needed to gather materials and call people in to work. Tifa had felt bad about this, but there was no way that she was going to stay at Icicle for another week or so. Not with everything that had just happened with Vincent. The silence might just kill her, or else drive her mad. Looking around, she realized that Vincent was still nowhere to be seen. Tifa sat down...and waited.

...And waited...

Hours passed and the transfer had been completed. Tifa sat against the wall with her knees to her chest. She had thought about everything that happened with Vincent, and about what she was looking for, even though she still did not know exactly what either of those things were. She had exhausted every thought she had, and every means of entertaining herself. She began to wish that he was there, even though he most likely would say nothing. She was just lonely.

About twenty minutes later, she heard soft footsteps approaching, and she looked up when she heard them pause next to her. There he stood, wearing the same red cloak, staring down at her with soft-lidded, bright and piercing red eyes, shadowed by his hair, which hung down over his face as he tilted his head downwards. "We will return here tomorrow morning. For now, you should sleep." Tifa gave him a look of contempt.

"And where have you been?"

"...Away." She glared at him for a couple seconds more and then gave up with a soft sigh. She laid her head back against the wall and held his gaze out of the left corner of her eyes. Vincent looked weary; she could tell by the way his eyes lost their effect, dimming once he'd made his point. He was just too tired to argue, much less explain himself. Not that he owed her an explanation in the first place. She started to pull herself up, and she half-sighed as she did so.

"I guess we should get some sleep, then." Vincent just barely nodded in response and started walking back through the town, towards the inn. It was late afternoon, and outside, the sun was just setting. The beauty of the blazen sky stood out to Tifa, and she was awed by it. The town however, seemed empty and quiet as most were inside eating a nice hot meal, and her only companion was caught up in a dead silence.

Tifa had to skip in her step, and she almost resorted to jogging at one point just to keep up with Vincent. She sensed that he needed even more time alone than he had already gotten that day. He was usually quiet, but she felt even more ignored than ever before. It was as if he couldn't wait to get away from her. No matter what he had said earlier in the room, after what had happened at breakfast, Tifa was sure that Vincent was frustrated with her for not understanding him. How could she? She didn't know anything about him, save what she had gathered during the Meteor crisis, and he wouldn't tell her any more than that.

They finally reached the inn. Tifa followed Vincent up the stairs to their rooms, and he walked out into the middle of the hallway between their two doors before turning and nodding his head quickly to her, then entering his room. Tifa sighed loudly, highly discouraged and exhausted. She could only hope that the next morning she would find him in a better mood.

Vincent closed the door softly behind him before turning the lock until it clicked loudly, echoing throughout the room. The shower faucet was dripping again, the sound pounding at his head, making him all the more restless. He felt ill, and he was simply much too tired to go and shut the water off. Though he usually handled the elements well, he was rapidly becoming overheated in his heavy attire. He quickly shed all of his clothing, save for his pants, and collapsed onto the bed.

  


It was late in the night, or very early in the morning; which of these it was, Vincent was unsure of, but outside, it was black and silent. Vincent stared at the ceiling, his eyes wide in a panic attack. He had slept for a few hours and it had done nothing for his fatigued state. His strength was waning, and the faucet was still dripping, the water suggesting to him an image of the first time he had known this feeling.

Once, when he was a boy, Vincent had gone to a friend's house for a swim. The hours had gone by, and they lost track of the time. After Vincent had exited the pool, he had felt a terrble itching and burning inside the palms of his hands. He looked down to see them breaking open, the thin lines in them separating and giving way to small rivers of red.

Tonight the feeling returned as it had many times since then. Now it was coming from something else. He felt it starting painfully slow, a burning itch right between his shoulders. He felt his entire body grow hot and tense up; the sheets stuck to him and his sweat secured them. His skin began to crack and bleed as the feeling crept down from his shoulders, following his spine, which shook and trembled in anticipation of what was to come.

Vincent's knees shot up as he lay on his back, and he brought his heels close to his body and elevated his hips, not wanting to stretch his back by sitting up. His arms slid over to his hips and he undid his pants and wrestled them off, as they were only serving to trap more of his body heat inside. The cold air on his skin helped to distract him, but only momentarily. Then the first large break began to flow freely.

Vincent shut his eyes tightly and a breath caught in his throat. He held it there, afraid that he would start to cry out and that someone would hear. He almost held a hand to his throat, for an irrational fear that the air would break forth through the scar he held there. He let his knees back down and rolled over, the sheets becoming tangled all around him. He would have stayed on his back, but he repressed the urge to brace his feet against the foot of the bed and smother his shoulder blades. The last time he had tried that, he had broken something as his wings shot out of his back and had nowhere to go. That was in the lab, and he had almost bled to death alone on the table, chained down and waiting for them to receed back into his body when they refused to.

His hands were thrust down around the bedframe, his arms wrapping around the sides of the mattress, fingers digging into the wood. He could feel the hot liquid pouring from his back, dripping down his sides, collecting in the spaces between his neck and his shoulders, making his body slick with the stench of metal and soaking the white sheets that surrounded his form. He heard a muffled crushing and scratching as the pounding blood filled his ears, and he knew that his claw had destroyed the left side of the bedframe when the bed fell to its side, tilted at an angle, making his attempts to support himself much harder to manage. His arms moved from the sides of the bed to the pillow in front of him. He buried his face in the white and red mess and muffled a scream, lest Tifa hear and wake to find him.

He felt his skin stretch and his back rose up like a tent. There was a sharp clawing at his skin from underneath as the sharp tips of his wings begged to be set free. His bones cracked, shifted, twisted and buckled under the pressure. His gasping breath became more painful by the second, but he could not help his growing need for air as his ribs shifted, pushing at his insides. He felt his hips shift and disconnect, and his arms shot out from underneath the pillow; his hands wrapped tightly around two of the several posts that supported the headboard, and he braced himself as best he could against the agonizing pain that shot down his legs. His fingertips on his right hand bled freely as the claws penetrated his skin, inching out from underneath. He felt a razor-tipped wing begin to emerge from his side and it felt as if one of his bones was being torturously drawn from his body. His shoulders hunched up around his neck and he buried his pounding head in the sheets as he felt skin inching down from his upper left arm to cover his claw as if it had a mind of its own. Two sharp pains started at his forehead and made it hard for him to block out even the smallest amount of his pain.

Sleep...he needed rest. This was too much; there had been too much uncertainty, frustration and doubt. He'd let it get to him, he'd lost sleep and the nightmares begged to be released somewhere other than his dreams. He couldn't hold it in any longer...but he would have to fight it, even if it refused to give up its hold on him the entire night.

  


  


A/N: I apologize if there are any spelling errors. Like I said before, I had to code these chapters with HTML, because my Word program doesn't work...so no spellcheck...


	22. Red Discovery

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 21:  
Red Discovery  
By Darknightdestiny**

Pale yellow light filtered in through the blinds. Tifa's mouth drew up into a smile at the warmth playing on her face, regardless of the way things had gone for her the night before. After lying awake for about an hour, thinking about all of the things that had passed between the two of them, Tifa had decided to give it a rest. She would just have to accept the fact that all of those things were what made Vincent who he was. Being his friend, at least as far as her side of it went, she shouldn't want it to be any other way.

Tifa Lockheart slid out from underneath the covers and ran to the shower, ready to refresh herself. She didn't spend long underneath the water, daydreaming about some scenario or wishing she had done something different. She was quick and to the point in every way that morning; she was ready to get out of there and back to Neo-Midgar, where she could relieve Will and Jolene from the stress they had no doubt acquired during her time away. Tifa stumbled out of the shower, almost catching herself in the curtain, and grabbed a towel from the shelf with one shivering hand. Water dripped all over the floor, and she was careful so as not to slip in it and hurt herself.

She readied herself for the day and dressed herself in a hurry. She packed up everything she had brought with her, and set her pack on the bed while she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair out. Standing there in front of the simply ornamented glass, she couldn't help but remember Vincent's reaction on the day she'd found his outside of his room. Still feeling guilty, she reminded herself that rather than regret what had happened, she should be making her way down to the fueling station, so that she didn't make him wait any longer than he'd already had to. It made no difference that he had made her wait for so long the previous day; even though he hadn't specified a time, she wanted to be there early so that he didn't have to wait for her.

Tifa dropped her brush into her pack and zipped it up. She shouldered the small bulk by one strap only, and rushed out of the room, grabbing the key from the table-top as she went. She bounded down the stairs, wet hair trailing once again, and turned in the small metal device before heading out the front door.

Tifa Lockheart was greeted with an unfriendly gust of cold wind as she ran out from Icicle Inn. As soon as she had hit the cool air, the rush had overpowered her and almost knocked her over. The light that had shone through her window had been deceiving; there were no clouds out, but the winds were harsh and ripped at her clothing. Her face turned pink immediately, and small flakes of ice bit at her face, carried by the air currents. Tifa wrapped her arms about herself and headed to the other side of town, wanting to just get the trip over with. Maybe then everything would get better, and she would be too preoccupied to have to worry about how things were between her and Vincent.

Of course she didn't want to forget completely. She just wished that she could have taken back her hasty actions and some of the things she had said. She didn't feel that she'd handled the situation like she should have, but there was only so much that she could do when it came to talking with Vincent. He wasn't exactly an open book, easy for everyone to read. It was more like he was a thick novel written in an extinct dialect, and someone had taken the liberty of gluing all of his pages to each other.

Through all of her thinking on the topic of Vincent and what kind of a novel he would make, Tifa finally found herself at the foot of the fueling station. Hugging herself tightly as the wind prevailed, she strode in, the bell at the top of the door chiming softly but pointedly at her arrival. The man from the day before walked over to her and greeted her with that same warm smile. He was better received that morning, because Tifa was excited to be going back home. Even if she wasn't finished discovering whatever she was looking for, she at least had a purpose set out before her.

"Is it ready?" she asked him with a glimmer in her eyes, hoping that they would be able to leave soon.

"Sure is, miss!" he replied, his own eyes creasing in the corners as his kind smile grew. "Will you be headin' out as soon as that tall guy you were with gets here?"

Tifa paused and took a look around the room. Vincent was nowhere to be seen. 'That's odd,' she thought to herself. 'I know he was gone for a while yesterday, but he made it a point that we'd be here today, and I'd have expected him to come early.' The checkout time for the inn was at noon, and there was nothing to be done there before then, save for eating breakfast. Tifa doubted that Vincent would be doing that; she'd never noticed much of an appetite in Vincent, until someone force-fed him. She'd thought he would have left before she did. He'd had plenty of time to mull over whatever he had been carrying on his shoulders the entire day before. "Say..." she turned to the clerk, "can you tell me what time it is?"

"Sure thing, little lady. It's," and here he looked at his watch, "Ten and thirty."

'Ten thirty?' the phrase rang out in Tifa's head. "...He should have been here by now."

"D'ya say somethin'?" the man asked.

"Oh! Umm..." Tifa looked about nervously, "nothing. I have to go. I'll be right..." she waved her arms in front of her, "I'll be right back."

Tifa rushed out into the street, driven by something she didn't recognize. Vincent had spent enough time alone the day before. He didn't need to be away that morning, and he was always a man of purpose, always about getting things done. She couldn't imagine him being late. While she thought he might be upset if he headed down there and didn't find her when he got there, something told her that she should go and look for him instead.

She ran over the snow-covered walkways, her boots sticking in the ice, weighing her down. The thin mountain air caught in her lungs and held her down, but she pressed on. Even if she was wrong, even if she was overreacting, the faster she found out, the more quickly she could get back to where she was supposed to be and avoid his frustrated gaze. How she hated the idea of letting him down.

When she reached the inn, she rushed right past a couple of boys who were staring up at the second story. She would have kept going, but something struck her as odd when she glanced back at them over her shoulder. There was a partially made snowman near the two, but it had been halted and stood there unfinished. The two were obviously drawn to something else of greater interest.

Tifa backtracked in her steps and went over to stand by the two boys. "What are you looking at?" she asked, out of pure curiousity as to what would make the two of them act so strangely, when every other child was playing in the streets undistracted. They didn't say a word; one of them pointed a mittened finger at the end of his outstretched arm and directed it towards a window. Tifa followed his finger with her gaze and saw a panel of messed blinds through the glass. They looked to be bent and crumpled. The curtains that hung loosely around the other windows were threaded through the blinds in this one, and there was a bright red streak running across the glass.

Tifa gasped at the sight before the thought of her initial destination struck her. She lifted her own finger momentarily and began counting the windows from one side of the inn to the other. 'Twenty-nine, Thirty-one, Thirty-three...oh my...'

She turned to the boys, who were still looking at the sight upstairs. She eyed the surrounding citizens; no one else had seemed to notice yet, for whatever reason. She realized that it wasn't something that would be easy to miss, and so she knelt down until she was at eye level with the boys. She held one finger up to her lips in a signal of silence and gave them both a pointed look. "Run along, now...you didn't see anything, alright?" She idly straightened the jacket of the first and then the cap of the other. They looked at each other and then back at her before nodding slowly and running off.

There wasn't any time to spare. Tifa ran from her spot in the front yard through the door and past the counter, not caring that she'd turned in her key that morning. She ran up the stairs, skipping two at a time, hoping that when she reached the top, she wouldn't have to witness something she couldn't handle.

Standing in front of his door, she called his name. "Vincent?" There was a tremor in her voice that spread throughout the word and even swallowed it up near the end so that all she got out was, "Vin--nt?" She swallowed and tried again, her voice growing frantic. "Vincent!" There was no answer, and she figured the room was messed up badly enough, so it couldn't really hurt to try the only other option she could think of at the time.

Tifa ran to the other side of the hallway and flew at the door, kicking it wide open and sending thick splinters of wood in every direction. She stumbled inside, but caught her balance by planting one foot in front of her. The room smelled of a sick and familiar scent; she recognized that as the smell that rose from the fields whenever they had finished killing off some beast that had decided to prey on their small group. The room smelled of death and decay. 'Not good,' she decided.

She took a step forward and nearly fell over again as her foot met with a pencil-holder that bore the neat logo of the inn on it. It lay on the ground in front of her, spilling small traces of lead dust over the beige carpet that lined the doorway. Tifa paused and moved her foot to avoid it; she took this moment to lift her head and give her surroundings a good look, even though she was afraid of what she might find. Straight ahead of her, she could see the front of the room. There was a dresser to her left, which stretched to the far side of the area, and on top of that was a television set, most likely untouched by his hands. Tifa gasped when she looked beyond these things.

The far side of the room looked like someone had taken a paint bucket and sloshed red across ten feet of space. The walls were decked out in quick splashes of color, which ran from their spots on the wall down to the floor in quick tears of crimson. It looked like blood had been flung- not smeared, not sprayed, but literally flicked or thrown- across the room. And the walls were covered in uniform streaks that all followed a certain direction, or criss-crossed at a certain point. Tifa had seen streaks like this only a few rare moments in her life. Her eyes followed the trail to the only thing beyond there that she could see from her vantage point by the doorway...

The corner of the bed.

She had to turn the corner, no matter how much she feared doing it. Someone was bound to notice soon, what with all the commotion she'd made rushing up the stairs, and with the children playing outside. What would happen if someone found them there? What if Vincent was-

Tifa's eyes were set on the crimson-stained blanket that could be seen as she peered around the corner. Slowly she edged closer, stepping over a broken lampshade, a shattered vase, and Vincent's shirt. She turned the corner and winced before she stood still, unsure of what to do, how to act, or anything. She wished she'd never asked him to come. She wished she didn't have to see this. She wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away.

But she couldn't. There he lay, on a bed of red and white, drenched in blood and sweat, his hair falling everywhere. He was on his stomach, his shoulders heaving up and down, his forearms wrapped around his pillow, hands clasped tightly together. The sheets were set up over his hips, but they were wrapped up and around both of his legs, entangling him in the mess. There was a pool of red around him that hadn't completely soaked the sheets yet; it still rose up off of the surface of the fabric, and Tifa could have dipped her finger into it a half an inch deep, had she wanted to.

Vincent lay panting, wheezing on the bed. He was human, but it was obvious to her that he hadn't been so the entire night. She stepped closer, afraid but filled with so much concern for him. His back was broken open, pouring blood from two thick gashes that stretched down between his shoulder blades. They'd not healed over yet, and she was amazed that he'd not yet bled to death. She set one foot near the left side of the bed and pulled it back when she felt it fill with warm liquid in the sole. She grimaced, but put it back down anyway, and followed suit with her other knee.

Leaning close to him, she reached out and pulled a lock of his raven hair back, revealing dimly lit pools of red. His breathing was shallow and steady, but each breath was accompanied by the sound of a rattling in his chest, as if some of the blood had gotten down into his lungs. His eyes stared off into space in front of him, looking past Tifa and into oblivion. "Vincent," she called him, hoping to break his trance. "Vincent." She placed one of her hands on his left shoulder and tried to shake him without aggravating his wounds. "Vincent!" Her voice was strained and choked. She brought her head down near his and took his face from the pillow and held it in her hands, bringing her forehead to his. "Vincent!" A strained whisper, nearly gone but the only plea she had left. "Vincent, answer me. Wake up!"

As if on cue, his eyelids fluttered and she felt it against her own, which startled her into realizing exactly how close she had gotten to him. She backed up some and let him rest back on the pillow and started to idly stroke his hair, doing whatever she could to keep her hand occupied and yet nearby, should he decide to slip into unconsciousness. "Vincent, it's Tifa. Say something, please..."

His eyes flicked over to hers and an element of fear crept into them. He was exposed again, this time helpless and hurting, and all of it obvious to the one he was supposed to be watching out for. He realized he could have killed her in the night. He started to move his mouth, but his voice wouldn't cooperate.

"Vincent..." she started again, "don't go back to sleep. Can you sit up?" He pulled one arm back from behind the pillow and set it up in front of him, following with the other one. He prepared to turn over, and Tifa made a move to steady him, but he shuddered as she came near, and so she backed away. After trying to shift his weight onto one arm so that he could flip over, Vincent gave up and collapsed back onto his chest. Tifa's eyes followed his actions. "It's those sheets..." Vincent made no move to acknowledge them. "Will you let me help you?" He stared up at her from his spot on the bed, and his eyes met hers before trailing down his own form and then to the floor where his pants lay in a bloody heap. His eyes snapped back up to hers, almost expressionless; they half demanded an explanation for her forwardness and half begged her to relieve his humiliation. Tifa understood. "Vincent, we haven't got time for that. People will be coming up here soon, and you can't be here. It's not important...we just have to get out of here, alright?"

Tifa's resolve had won out over her bashfulness and fear. She leaned over and placed her right arm under his left and hooked hers up around his so that she wouldn't scrape against his back, but she'd still have a bit of leverage. She flipped him over onto his back and then attempted to pull him up. When she realized that Vincent was extremely heavy, regardless of how thin he appeared, and it became apparent to her that if she continued this she would fall right into his lap, she had to climb atop the bed and use both arms to pull him up. His body eventually followed with her motions, but he had some trouble holding himself up, so he practically fell onto her. He was slumped forward, his chin on her shoulder as she tried to hold him up and simultaneously untangle him from the sheets.

"Vincent, you have to help me." Tifa heaved her shoulders in a sigh and rested on her knees, her toes digging into the wet sock material that was hidden in her boots. She held Vincent's claw arm to her side, wedged in the crook of her elbow, and she heard the fingers begin to twitch behind her arm. Tifa's eyes peeked out at Vincent from behind a matted curtain of deep brown, and they met with a resigned crimson gaze. Vincent's eyes peered into her own, communicating something silent to her from behind his tousled hair, and she watched as an outsider as he slowly pulled his claw arm from her grasp and set it down beside himself. "Vincent...you can't stay-"

Tifa was cut off as Vincent began to push himself up from the bed. She moved forward in an effort to steady him, but he continued on without need of it. Vincent sat up in bed and looked around the room, his eyes seemingly opened for the very first time to the destruction around him. He looked to the walls and then back to Tifa, then back to the walls. He spoke up for the first time that morning, his voice cracked and shaking, hoarse and running with red liquid. "...I did this." His eyes met hers.

Tifa waved it off with a shake of her head. "It's not important right now. We have to get you out of here, and we have to take care of your wounds." His eyes spoke concern as they moved down to her white sweater, which was covered in red. "It's yours," she answered. He looked back up at her face.

"...I know."

Tifa caught his meaning and sighed loudly. "Vincent, now is not the time for that, no matter how dazed you are." It seemed ridiculous to her that after all he'd obviously suffered through that night, he felt bad that she'd gotten his blood on her shirt. "Can you get dressed?" His eyes fell to the side. "I know they're bloodied up, but we can worry about that later. Can you stand?"

Vincent pushed forward with his arms. "Turn around." Tifa nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her.

"I'll go over by the door. We haven't got much time, so let me know when you're decent, so we can get out of here." She gave him one last look and walked over to the open doorway, where the floor was littered with scraps of wood left behind from her powerful kick. She paced the area restlessly and set a pile of gil on the coffee table, once she had righted it again.

Vincent pushed forward on his arms and sat up on his knees, using his hands for balance. He continually eyed the edge of the wall, suspicious of the constant noise Tifa's pacing was making, even though she had no intentions of interrupting him before he was finished. Ever since that occurrence the earlier day, his guard had been raised higher than usual, and he had become wary of all of Tifa's motions.

He slid from the bed and set one foot on the floor, finding his stance to be shaky and weak. He felt like he had not stood for several days, and he had to reach out and grasp the bedpost to keep from falling over. Tifa called to him from the other room.

"Vincent, are you going to be alright?"

"...Yes," came the soft but definite reply. Vincent moved one hand over to the bed and clung to the sheets on the edge of it, as he lowered one knee to the ground and gathered his pants in his hand. He tried pulling himself up by the sheets, but they only stretched in his hands, and hung from the small frame the mattress made. He seemed unable to stiffen the muscles in his legs, and he could barely pull himself up from the ground. He thought for a moment that he might consider Tifa's offer, but that was the last thing he wanted. Regardless of her kindness and the fact that she meant well, he would never let her see him in such a vulnerable and broken state, exposed for all he was worth.

Putting forth a burst of energy, Vincent lunged forward towards the bed and pulled himself up onto the blood-stained linens. He lay back on the sticky mess, which was cool from the hours exposed to the air, the heater having been broken in the midst of the wild thrashing fit Chaos had given the night previous. The red liquid seeped into his pores and drenched his scalp from behind, as he used his right arm to lift his legs one by one and attempt to dress himself.

It was true that his pants were wet with his blood. He loathed the feeling of his own life sliding up the sides of his legs, and he loathed the smell of it even more. Nevertheless, he continued on with it, and as soon as Tifa heard him zip the garment up, she rushed back around the corner to help him finish the rest. Her sudden apearance frightened Vincent, and he would have jumped visibly in his position, had he been anyone else.

Tifa approached the still man as he lay on his back in the pool of crimson, staring back at her with a slight bit of contempt, but also a bit of surprise, be it ever less evident than the contempt. After all, this was about trust, right? She grabbed his shirt, which was lying on a capsized chair nearby, and took his human hand in both of hers and yanked him into an upright position. She climbed up next to him and began to put his shirt on.

"...I am capable of doing that myself," Vincent casually observed, more out of a resigned afterthought than anything else.

"I know," Tifa replied, sounding apologetic, "but we don't have the time."

Coherent thought escaped Vincent, though he managed to retain a somewhat dignified tone. Not caring whether an angry mob found him and shot him to death at that very moment, he decided to make light of the situation in his own way, lifting some of the stress from Tifa's shoulders. Whether it was the apathy or the blood loss, he wasn't sure. He wasn't even thinking about why, though it might have just been that he'd gone too long without giving rise to a priceless expression in the face of Tifa Lockheart. He spoke again, softly and distinctly, as she moved around him, fastening the buttons. "...Must you straddle my leg so?"

Tifa's eyes went wide and she paused in her actions, a thick hue of red threatening to consume her features. She searched his face for some explanation as to why he had asked her that, but she found that he was not himself, and his eyes seemed rather glazed over. "I was trying to get this done quickly and easily...I was only getting close enough to work with your clothing."

"I noticed."

Tifa merely blinked back at him. "Well it doesn't matter, because I'm done." She inched away from him and stood up on the floor, letting her hair fall over her eyes to hide her red cheeks. "...Come on," she said, shouldering his cape and strapping Death Penalty to her side, "let's get you out of here." She stepped forward and sat next to him on the bed. She slipped her arm underneath of his and set one foot against the broken bedframe, which made no noise since becoming accustomed to its place wedged against the floor. Getting ready to push off, she turned to him and said, "when I stand, I want you to follow me, alright?" Vincent gazed forward and nodded silently, and Tifa pushed off of the wooden frame.

Vincent rose from the bed, though he more or less fell onto Tifa's shoulder rather than used it for a mere support. He was heavy, but she was handling it well enough. "Vincent, you're going to have to walk." She spotted his room key underneath the coffee table she had just righted, and thought it best that they just leave it there. "Vincent, did you hear me? You're going to need to move your legs." Vincent nodded, a barely detectable motion, and bent one knee, trying to take a step forward. "Does it hurt?" she asked him. He nodded again, but hesitantly in his admittance.

"I can move them. I just...cannot feel them." Tifa shuddered at the hot breath on her neck.

"...Your legs?" she asked. He nodded again. "Where does it hurt?"

"...The hips," he muttered under a short gasp as he tried to walk. Tifa followed him towards the door, holding onto him and acting as a support. "The rest...is numb."

"...We're going to have to walk to the station," she warned him. "Can you do it?" Vincent nodded in reply, though somehow she doubted he truly could. He seemed to be doing more than before, though, and it had only been a matter of minutes. She led him out into the hallway and to the service elevator at the end of the corridor, not in any hurry to show him downstairs in front of the other guests.

Tifa had turned her sweater inside out, and had draped Vincent's cloak over him. The entire way to the station, which was a painfully slow trip, the two had received several strange stares and questioning glances, but no one had stopped to bother asking why the young girl was carrying a thin and deathly pale man on her shoulder. The dripping blood as they went through the streets was barely noticeable from the angle of the passers by, but had they been looking down from above, they would have seen the two dragging red tears behind them.

Eventually they staggered into the front entrance of the fueling station and made for the Tiny Bronco. Tifa brought Vincent around to the passenger side of the plane and tried to help him into the vehicle. He managed to pull himself up into the cockpit using his arms, though his back ached and burned when he did so. Tifa turned around and paid the clerk, who had just wandered up from the back of the garage and was eyeing the pair with a look of confusion, and possibly a bit of suspicion. She gave him a large handful of gil and told him to keep the rest before making her way around to the driver's side of the plane. The man watched with an odd and questioning expression as she started the engine and pulled the plane around so that it was facing the landing.

Tifa looked over at the faint and dazed man slumped over in his seat to her right. She took a deep breath and held it in before slowly letting it go. 'This means I'm going to have to drive again,' she thought, dreading the experience. She hoped that Vincent would be awake enough to coach her through the landing process again, because she was so frantic the last time that she didn't quite remember it.

Vincent's eyes began to close and his head nodded to the side as he sat in the leather chair. He had barely gotten any sleep the entire night, and all the rest he had managed to get had taken place previous to his transformation. Heat and pain threatened to overwhelm his battered body, but he was much too exhausted to try to do anything about it. No matter how cold the temperature was outside of the vehicle, Vincent felt feverish. All he wanted was to get back to sleep, to find some sort of comfort. He didn't care that his hair was matted with blood, or that his limbs were sticky with it. He hated the smell on his clothes, but he didn't care at the moment that they were drenched with it. All he wanted was to close his eyes and fall into some sort of release. His entire body, even his eyes, was sore. He would gladly risk having nightmares over holding out longer than he already had.

"Vincent," Tifa's voice washed over his senses. "Vincent, don't you dare fall asleep. I have to make sure you'll wake up again!" His vision was swirling, and his senses were driving him mad, picking up every single stimuli, but muting them all. Tifa reached over and gently shook him while the engine warmed up. "Vincent, please...I can't keep an eye on you all the way to Rocket Town." Vincent glanced over in her direction with sleepy eyes.

"Did you not say-"

Tifa shook her head. "There's no way we're going to Midgar with you hurting like that. We'll run this by Cid's house and get you fixed up. It shouldn't be too long...just hold on. Vincent, please hold on for me. I'll never be able to live it down if something bad happens to you."

Vincent's head nodded a little before he laid it back on its side against the seat and stared up at her through those half-lidded eyes. "...It is not your fault."

"Vincent, I walked all the way down to the station without you! I passed right by your door and didn't even think to check and see if you were still there! And besides...I'm the one who asked you to come out here with me. All this time, you've been doing all of this for me, and you get hurt..."

Vincent blinked back at her and weakly cleared his throat. "Do not regret," he started in a hoarse and scratchy voice, "the decisions that others have made."

It broke her heart to hear him speak like that, and in his feverish voice, too. Tifa wanted to stop him and tell him that he should take his own advice, that his life would be so much better if he learned to do just that. But she decided that it wasn't her place to say anything about it. That part of his life was over, and if he was ever going to get past it, he would have to be willing to let himself do it. Instead she sighed and started the plane on its path down the landing. "Vincent, just try to stay awake until we get there, alright? I know you want to sleep, and I promise that when I can keep an eye on you again, you can rest all you want. Just...Vincent, I'm scared. I don't want to crash this plane."

Vincent nodded and sat up as best he could. He let his shirt take in what was left of the blood from his back in order to stop the flow, even though he knew it would hurt very much when it was pulled away later. Delaying the pain was no problem for him, as long as he could rest his body. His eyes, however, would have to wait. Vincent began putting forth his best effort to stay awake as they headed towards Rocket Town in the Tiny Bronco.

A/N: Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! ...I know this post will be outdated when I post again, but as I write this, it's still Christmas where I live, so there.  
  
Reno Spiegel wrote a gift fic package, and gave me a short story ("For Nighty Night"). I feel all cozy and... stuff. Anyways, I liked it and I'm sure you will too, so go and read his stories, alrighty? *plugs*   
  
Everyone have a wonderful season, regardless of how you spend it. Hope this chapter turned out alright, and that you all enjoyed reading it. I'm trying to make yet another turning point in the story while also keeping the both of them in character, and I'm hoping I did an alright job with the descriptions/dialogue/diziness/effects/tension. And I had Vincent crack a joke. A dazed joke, but a joke nonetheless, so I hope you'll excuse any weirdness that you might have experienced due to that. I just had to stick it in there, and it could not be resisted, no matter how hard I tried.

Like I really tried.

~Nighty Night~


	23. Recovering

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 22:  
Recovering  
By Darknightdestiny**

There was a time when Vincent Valentine didn't care for the feelings of others. As a child, he spent all of his time alone in his room and never ventured to go outside. Most of the time that he was at the house, he was alone anyways. Still, he confined himself to his room and his books, ignoring all else, even if it seemed that there was nothing and no one to ignore.

The world he knew was one of work and play, the work being on the side of his parents and the play being on the side of his peers. He never spent any time with the children at school, never made any friends. He had no reason to, and even if he did feel the need for companionship, he would be much too busy to pay it any attention.

Vincent was raised to think that an individual had no value in and of himself. The true measure of someone's worth was what they were able to contribute to society. As a result, Vincent was well-read and well-versed in all forms of literature and poetry, and he was exposed to many art forms at an extremely young age.

He never cared much for science, however.

And since his parents were so busy contributing their fair share to society, he rarely saw them. He continued to spend long hours in his room, reading and writing, and learning all that he could about the world so that one day he could give as much as they did, work as hard as they did. In doing so, he would receive the satisfaction in knowing that he was educated and a high member of society, worthy of his existence, and not a waste of flesh.

Not like those who idled away their time in meaningless indulgences, trivial things that would never matter in the long run.

It is said that most all children will rebel against the ways that they are taught, at some point or another. Either that, or they will take their teacher's and mentor's views, and they will twist them into extremely grotesque versions of their own, and walk out into the world with a sense of false enlightenment. In both circumstances, what they are taught at a young age, they will remember. Whether it is for good or bad, to enforce or ridicule, they will remember the ways of those who were to be their examples.

It is very easy for those who have much to look down on those who have little, whether it is by their own fault or not. This is true in more aspects than merely the financial case. It is easy for those who consider themselves educated to look down on those who are not, and for those to whom things come easy to ridicule those who give up, until they've had to work for them as well.

It was very easy for Vincent to abandon the life he knew and take on a life that he knew would bring pride to no one in his family but himself. It was very easy to exterminate the lives of those he never had the chance to know, never realized that they might have been a doctor, or a scholar, or a teacher. It was very easy for him to dismiss the things he pretended not to know. It was no problem to bury his conscience in the recesses of his mind, where he didn't have to listen to it, didn't have to accept that by getting rid of people a corrupt government might call vile, he became vile himself.

But as long as anything he needed was taken care of, life was easy. Time was aplenty.

It is very easy for those who are educated in the field of science to sneer at those who haven't the experience. Especially if those without the experience have bested those with said experience in some way.

Vincent had a habit of calling what was done to him his "judgement". He thought of the day he was shot as the day he died, nevermind that he was not declared clinically dead, nor could he have been. It was more of a figurative death, it being the time when his life was taken from him; his life consisted of the only thing that ever made him happy for as long as he could remember. One woman.

It was the first time he had truly lived.

If before he had truly lived, he had been nothing but a mere shell, then what, he wondered, had brought his soul out of hiding? Was it love? Was someone so cruel and selfish allowed to love?

It has also been said that one of the hardest things for a man to do is to try to discover himself, because once he has found where his heart lies, he may be discontent with what he finds, and loathe himself for his own shortcomings. Vincent had started with the notion that he was a selfish being, as he felt all humans were to begin with, and then reasoned that perhaps he had only loved Lucrecia because he wanted someone to be with, to comfort him and warm his cold heart, since he failed to do so on his own. He preferred to think that he loved her and wanted to share himself with her, give her something worth having, and not the other way around. Yet when he thought about it, he could think of nothing that he could offer her in the way of comfort, depth or care.

Nevermind that his deep concentration on the topic, drive to find out, and worry over the entire thing would be proof to some that he truly did care.

Vincent also wondered if he was ever truly sorry for the life he had led. Sometimes, when a parent catches a child in an act of misbehavior, the child will say that he or she is sorry. Almost immediately after, the parent has been known to say, at times, "You're not truly sorry. You're just sorry that you got caught."

Vincent often wondered if he was only sorry that he had gotten punished, and had the one good thing in his life taken away. He wondered if he was sorry because, deep down, he thought if he willed his apology far enough skyward, that he could go back and regain what he had lost.

Nevermind that the idea that he wasn't sorry was weighing heavily on his soul. Nevermind that the thought that he had truly lost his heart was killing him inside, and would have been proof to many that he still did have a heart.

Vincent had as much time as he wanted available to him, and he spent it in this way, philosophising in circles, and coming up with nothing. Thus, he concluded he was an empty being. The truth was that he had his answer, and it was proven by his stressfulness over the subject. He cared so much about having a hopeful answer, cared so much as to have a heart, wished he could purify his soul. Thus, he had completed the circle, and refused to accept the truth, because it was too simple for him, too easy.

Vincent couldn't let go of his so-called sins, because he was unwilling to let them go. He couldn't have a fresh start, because he felt himself undeserving, felt that somehow, if he tried, it wouldn't count. This is because all of his reasoning started with the pre-conceived notion that he was selfish and evil to begin with. And why should something that cannot truly repent, something that can only feign repentance for deceitful reasons, because it wants to be set free, wants to be rid of guilt, and doesn't want to have to take responsibility, receive the forgiveness that it so desires? Indeed.

All he had was time.

"Vincent..."

Time to try and purify his soul on his own.

"Vincent..."

So that he could receive the forgiveness he wouldn't let himself have just yet...

"Vincent?"

And learn to live for an unselfish reason.

"Vincent!"

...So that he could justify his forgiveness.

"Vincent, if you don't wake up and help me now, we're both going to die!"

Vincent's eyes shot open at the sound of Tifa's panicked voice. The turbulence was jolting the plane through the sky like mad, and he idly wondered why it was that he hadn't noticed before. He lurched forward, reaching for the steering handles with his left, clawed arm, which, he noticed, Tifa was clinging to. It was only a split second before he felt the tearing sensation at his back from the quick shift of the wounds under his shirt and the caked blood that had held them together. He grabbed Tifa's right hand with his, and placed it on the controls where his left hand was. "...Hold on to this."

Tifa panicked again when his hands left the bar, but she did as he told her, and she kept it in exactly the same position he had left it in. Vincent reached around the back of her chair and used his left arm to pull himself up onto the seat, while his right arm reached over her legs and grasped the other side of the seat; he was half on and half off, but it didn't matter. Tifa moved over to make room for him, and in no time, his arms were around her back and guiding her own. She was shaking and her hands were slick, but the calmness of his voice in her ear when he told her what pedals to push and what buttons to hit was so out of place, she was forced to take the deep breaths needed to calm herself.

The Tiny Bronco's entrance was shaky; its coming from the clouds above looked more or less like it was stumbling off of the edge of one of them. Eventually, with some help from Vincent, Tifa righted the plane and they made a rough landing behind the town, near the old launch pad.

The plane had managed to catch a couple of trees as they descended, and when they were on the open field, the uneven rattling jostled the two of them in the seat considerably. Tifa watched as Vincent's hands slipped away from hers and she felt his chest make contact with her back as he fell onto her, but as the plane slowed to a stop, she knew that they were going to be alright, as far as the landing. Vincent, she didn't know about. She shifted around in her seat to check.

She turned her head to the right, to find that Vincent had his chin rested over her shoulder. "Vincent?" She reached up and around the other side of his head with her right arm, and moved some of his hair out of his eyes. As she did so, his red pools fluttered open, and his eyelids settled for being half-shut over them. "Vincent..."

"Mmm..." he breathed out, and his eyes shut once more.

"Vincent."

No answer.

"Vincent!" She turned around in her seat and caught him when he fell onto her, shaking him gently. "Vincent, stay awake, please...at least until I can start fixing you up!" His breathing became more audible, and she heard a gasp and felt a rush of air by her neck when his shoulders shifted in her grip. Tifa loosened her hands a bit and tried her best to be sensitive to his injuries as she opened the door and shifted him over near the exit. She then climbed over him and pulled him out onto the ground as she descended. She almost fell forward when she hit the ground, with the new weight in her arms, part of his own body wrapped around her side but she caught herself on one knee and one hand shot out instinctively in front of her. She hadn't even meant to jump down like that, but she had more or less fallen with the heavy man falling out of the seat. There was another rush of air as she felt his chest fall onto her other elbow at landing. She laid him out on his side in the grass, and she began to unbutton his shirt and pull away at the layers of fabric that clung to his back.

The blood had become a dark burgundy color, and had crusted itself around the twin gashes in his back where his wings had emerged the night before. She heard a soft peeling sound when she removed them, and felt tension in the threads, as they held to his back and refused to leave without some ripping. Tifa took a deep breath and tightened her hold on the fabric...

And she stopped when she felt Vincent's cold metal grip on her arm. She looked over and saw him staring up at her, his breathing shallow and accompanied with a wheezing sound coming from deep down in his chest. "...I can do that myself," he breathed, the sentence no more than a whisper.

Tifa shook her head, removing her eyes from his. "You need to have this cleaned," she returned, still not meeting his eyes. She sighed aloud. "This would work better if we can get you inside and run some water over this."

Vincent looked at her for a bit longer, but Tifa was staring at the ground to the side of him. She did notice, however, when he moved to pick up the half-removed garment she'd unbuttoned, and wrapped it about his chest protectively, but without bothering to sleeve his claw-arm back into it. Tifa caught his eye when he did this, and her expression went blank. She simply reached over and wrapped one arm around his neck, and started to pull him up, using her other arm for balance. When she'd finally managed to get him into a sitting position, she stood up and helped him the rest of the way up.

When Shera heard knocking on her door, she didn't know what to expect. She didn't know of anyone that was planning to visit the house that day, and Cid wouldn't be back from his supply run until later that night, most likely after dark. When she opened the door to find Tifa standing there, a distressed look on her face and blood on her sweater, and a very pale, very sick looking Vincent on her shoulder, she lost all capability of speech.

"T-tifa?" A pause. "Well, what h-happened?"

"May we come in?"

"Oh!" Shera moved quickly out of the way and motioned Tifa to follow her upstairs, where they laid Vincent on the bed that he had used during their previous visit. Tifa laid Death Penalty against the wall, near the head of the bed, and she draped Vincent's cloak across the chair. Shera went downstairs to get some hot water and a washcloth, then decided that it was better to being several washcloths and perhaps a couple of towels. Tifa sat on the bed next to Vincent, and she ran her hand across his forehead.

"...You're clammy." She reached down and felt his hand.

Vincent slowly pulled his hand back when he'd had enough of her touch for the moment. "...I will manage."

"I'll need you to sit up. We're going to get you cleaned off, and after that you can rest for as long as you need to."

Vincent idly ran his fingers over the bedspread and looked up at her with an innocently blank expression. "I would rather rest."

"Vincent, you know that wouldn't be the best idea."

Just then, Shera came up with the water, the linens, and some bandages. She set them down on the nightstand and produced a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Let me know if there's anything else you need." She looked over at Tifa and Vincent, the latter seeming the least enthusiastic over the idea. "...I suppose I'll leave the two of you alone." Shera skittered out of the room, away from the awkward atmosphere that hung in the air.

Tifa looked at Vincent, and Vincent looked at Tifa. Neither of them uttered a single word. Tifa offered her hand to him, and he looked at it for a while, without making any movement towards it. Finally, he took it in his grasp and she helped him to sit up. He would have tried to sit up on his own, but after delaying it for so long with the look that he'd given her hand, he figured it would seem rude to deny it.

Tifa walked over to the basin and dipped the washcloth in the water, ringing it out until it stopped dripping. She placed it over her shoulder and sat behind Vincent on the bed. The blood in his throat had started to settle uncomfortably, and he tried to repress a cough, but it just became worse until he finally let it go. When he'd finished, Tifa reached around and started to gently pull back the fabric from his chest. It caught at the front, and she scooted forward on the bed to see what the problem was.

"Vincent."

"...Yes?"

"I'm going to need you to move your hand."

Vincent nodded his head, and Tifa continued, only to be stopped again. She huffed a small sigh of impatience and began to gently pry his fingers away from the material.

"...Vincent, you're going to have to cooperate with me if I'm going to help you." Vincent reluctantly relinquished his hold on the garment, and she pulled it back and down off of his arms, where it hung by its hold on his back. "...Hold still. This is going to hurt." She started to wipe at the cuts with the cloth, adding alcohol as she went, until the blood softened and was cleaned away, each time part of the shirt being released.

Vincent didn't utter any sound of pain. "...You know," Tifa started, "you lost a lot of blood. I'm surprised you were able to stay awake for this long." Vincent didn't answer. "I mean, most other people would be long gone by now."

"...I am not most people," Vincent intoned softly, and, Tifa thought, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"You should count yourself lucky."

Vincent let out a bitter, quiet laugh. "Not likely."

"Vincent, I know it hurts, but it's over now. Can't you try to look on the better side of things?" Tifa knew she might be sounding insensitive, but there wasn't much else that she could say. It was something that he was going to have to come to terms with, and it was something that was going to follow him for the rest of his life.

"Other people..." he started, "would not have been in this situation to begin with." This effectively silenced Tifa. "...You should not have to do this."

Tifa breathed a shaky breath before gathering herself together, glad that Vincent had dropped at least half of the subject. "I want to."

Vincent cringed inside, and a smile, born from piteous feelings for himself and for Tifa, grew on his face. "Can you honestly say that?" he whispered. "Do not mock me, Tifa. Can you honestly say that this is how you wished to spend your evening?"

Tifa took a deep breath before continuing. "Let's just say...that I'm using this opportunity to spend some quality time with an old friend. And...if I get the chance, I'll get to understand him better, so that he knows he's not alone when he deals with his problems, however unique they may be."

Tifa gave a small smile at Vincent's back, but there was silence on the other end. She dried his cuts and finished off by covering them in the rubbing alcohol, then wrapping the bandages around his chest and back. When she had finished with that, she back up a bit on the bedspread. "Now you can rest."

Vincent turned around and laid down on his chest, his eyes closing as soon as the side of his head hit the comfort of the bed. Tifa stayed there, watching him, not knowing whether she should leave, or if she should stay in case he had some trouble with his injuries. She knew they would begin to heal on their own, because she'd seen him after his transformation a couple of times previous, though she had to admit that this had been the worst. She heard his breathing start to calm and regulate itself. On an impulse, she reached forward with one hand and moved the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Won over by the softness she'd remembered from before, she let her hand run over it a few more times. Vincent was too tired at the moment to care, though if he had been fully awake, he'd have thought to stop her immediately. Tifa sighed, letting her eyes roam over the damage he'd been dealt by the demon living deep within his skin. "Vincent..."

"Mmm."

Tifa's hand jerked back. She hadn't expected any kind of response. His name had escaped her mouth more or less because she'd been thinking aloud, voicing the only word that came to her mind when she focused her sympathies toward him. "...You're awake..."

"Mm-hmm," he breathed out, the sound more of a sigh than anything. He shifted a little on the bed, his eyes still closed. He settled down again after that, his heart still beating at a uniform pace, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

Rather than stop completely, giving off an even bigger sense of suspicion, she continued in her motions, though they were slower and fewer, acting as if this was a normal thing that she would do for any of her injured friends. Her hand shook a little as she moved it towards him again, and Vincent noticed this as well. He was just too tired to care. Besides...

She had a comforting touch.


	24. The Morning After

**Flirting with Death, Chapter 23:  
The Morning After  
By Darknightdestiny**

Tifa looked down at the man beside her on the bed, watching his back rise up and down. She remembered that he still had blood drying to his legs, but he was so exhausted that she decided she would let him sleep. She had a feeling that he would rather take his shower after the cuts on his back had started to heal over, and he could take care of that himself. She was under the impression that he wouldn't appreciate her trying to get him to do it at that point, since he might still need a support, and she hadn't seen any cuts on his legs earlier, from what she could tell. Then again, she hadn't seen everything, but she didn't think he would have wanted her to. Until he was ready to shower, she would wait.

She noticed there was a small fan plugged into the wall, and it sat on top of the tallest dresser in the room. Tifa got up slowly from the bed, careful to not wake Vincent with her movement and watching him cautiously as she did. She walked quietly over to the dresser and reached up to turn on the fan. The batteries brought the small blades to life within their cage, and a cool breeze washed over her, then curved to her right, before coming back around and then curving to the left.

The soft air was soothing to her skin, and she hoped that it would help Vincent cool down after his episode. She didn't know what had caused it, but she was hoping that it wouldn't happen again anytime soon. He had seemed like he was in so much more pain than she had witnessed during battle. To be fair, she thought that perhaps their environment, and all of the time that had passed since the last time she'd seen it happen, might have made it seem worse than it had been compared to past occurences. Maybe she had just gotten unaccustomed to being around it. Then again, it hadn't happened so often before either, so she couldn't really compare.

She sat down on the bed once again, careful not to wake him with the slight movements she made. By the way his left elbow was bent next to him and his other arm was stretched out so that it draped over the side of the bed, it looked like he had just fallen down onto the bed and collapsed right where he was. His hair fell over his back and down into the crook of his neck, and his mouth was slightly parted.

"...You're beat," she breathed out as she let herself lean backwards, and she stretched out next to him. Tifa folded her hands neatly on her stomach, and arched her back once, readjusting her shoulders so that she was comfortable. She turned her head softly to her left, looking beyond her own hair, which was spread out over the covers. Vincent was perfectly still, save for the movement his breathing caused, and he looked much more peaceful than anyone who could have endured what he had should have.

Tifa was brought back to her senses by a loud slamming of the front door downstairs. She looked at the tall clock in the corner of the room and realized that more time had passed than she'd thought. She peered up at the window from her awkward angle on the bed, and she saw that the sky outside had turned a reddish orange color.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the slamming of the door was soon followed by the gruff announcement, "Ah'm home!"

Tifa bolted up at the sound of Cid's voice, and Vincent shifted a bit on the mattress. She wanted to go down and explain their presence because that would be the polite thing to do, but she didn't want to leave Vincent alone. She sat on the bed, wondering what move to make, until she heard footsteps coming down the hall.

There was a knock at the door, and Tifa started to get up to answer it, but thought better. "Come in," she called softly.

She heard the knob turn, and watched the door slowly creak open. A tuft of blonde hair appeared around the side and soon, Cid's baby blues were staring the two of them down. "Ah see yer all right," he said to her, before his eyes fell on Vincent. "How's he?"

Tifa shook her head and smiled sadly. "I don't know. He just went to sleep." She reached down next to her and fixed a wrinkle in the fabric. "Thanks for letting us stay here."

Of course, she didn't know that it was all right, but she knew that Cid would never say no, especially given the circumstances. "Well hell," he continued, "I don't want anythin' bad happenin' to you," he finished, pulling his cigarette from his mouth.

"Thank you," Tifa replied, a grin forming on her face. "You know," she mused, "you should be outside with that, since Shera is pregnant and all..."

"Hey, hey!" He raised his eyebrows both at once and exclaimed, "Yer livin' in my house!"

"Yes, dad," she laughed and saluted.

"Damn, you make me feel old. C'mere." Cid walked over and gave Tifa a hug, while passing a glance over Vincent. "He looks tired," he said. "You wanna come downstairs and eat somethin'?"

Tifa shook her head. "Maybe later. I want to be here when he wakes up."

Cid shrugged and made for the door. "Suit yerself. Let 'im know that I wanted t' make sure he was okay."

"I will," she said as he closed the door behind him.

Tifa leaned back on her elbows and looked at Vincent, whose hair was in different crevices in his neck ever since he'd shifted in his sleep. She reached over and gently slid her hand under his black mane and against the nape of his neck, and she brushed the hair away from his neck and over to the other side of his head behind him. She noticed that the tips were a little hardened, and that he probably had some blood there that had dried and caused his hair to stick together.

She wished she could wash it for him and get it over with, but he was content to lay there in whatever was left of it until he was able to take care of it himself. She decided then, that she would promise Shera to wash her sheets before they left. She turned over on her side to face him, and she soon fell asleep to the quiet humming of the fan, and the sound of Vincent's soft breathing.

|

Vincent opened his eyes and found himself staring into Tifa's face, though her eyes were closed. There was a cool breeze drifting over his skin, and he slowly sat up on the bed and checked to see if the window was open. It wasn't long before he realized that the breeze was coming from the other side of the room, and when he glanced over, he saw the fan she had turned on.

The light outside the window was almost non-existent; the sky was a muddled shade of blue and grey, and he was surprised that he had slept until twilight. He looked around for his shirt, but he couldn't seem to spot it anywhere. Vincent placed his hand and his clawed arm both at his sides and pushed himself off the bed, rising carefully so as not to wake her. His head spun for a few seconds once he was standing, but it passed soon enough.

Taking a step forward, Vincent felt the discomfort of the dried blood that clung to his legs and held his pants in a stiff position, making it hard for him to move. He directed himself towards the door and turned the knob gently, entering the hall quietly. He made his way over to the kitchen, hoping that someone else would be there.

A soft light coming from the kitchen flooded the hallway near the end, and Vincent brushed up against the wall and peeked around the corner. Shera was nowhere to be found, but Cid was sitting at the table, having a cup of tea she had apparently fixed him before disappearing. The pilot seemed to be deep in thought, something he usually didn't let on to when other people were around, Vincent mused. But he most likely had a lot on his mind lately, with Shera getting ready to have their child, and with two of his former allies dropping in looking the way they did.

"...Cid."

Cid looked up from his cup of tea and caught Vincent's crimson gaze. He sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table, shifting in his seat as he did so, and he lifted his head forward to place his arms behind his neck. "Yer up early," Cid commented idly. Vincent took this as sarcasm, and he shook his head.

"I was wanting to take a shower, and I was wondering..." Vincent paused.

"Y' want to borrow somin'?" Cid asked. Vincent nodded from his position on the wall, half in the hallway and half the back of his left shoulder peeking out into the kitchen as his gaze returned to the floor. "Well why didn' y' say so?" Cid replied. "Shit. You come in 'ere lookin' like death himself, and y' can't speak up when y' need somin?"

A small smile began to creep up inside of Vincent, but he barely let it slip past the right corner of his mouth.

"C'mon," Cid said as he rose from the kitchen table, "I'll get y' somin'." Cid walked out into the hallway and passed Vincent, who had consciously crossed his arms over his chest. The gauze that Tifa had wrapped around his torso had covered most of his scarring, but he was still ashamed of what was visible. Fortunately enough for him, the light in the hallway was much dimmer than the light in the kitchen.

They came upon a closet in the hall where Cid stopped and turned to Vincent. "Don't know what I got that'll fit ya, but I'm sure I can find y' somin' to wait around in 'till yer clothes get cleaned up." Cid opened the door and walked inside, rummaging around on the tops of the shelves, sifting through piles of folded clothing. Finally, he pulled down a pair of long fleece pants and an oversized white t-shirt. "These oughtta take care of ya for now."

Vincent hesitantly reached forward and took the clothing from Cid. "...Thank you."

Cid looked Vincent over and shook his head. "Y' don't have t' act like yer acceptin' a car. It's jes somin' to cover yerself. Speakin' of..." Cid trailed off. Vincent looked up at him with an irrational amount of fear welling up inside, as if he'd been caught at something he'd neglected to guard himself against. "...I think this's the first time I've seen yer face."

Vincent's heart lept into his throat and then sunk quickly back down, and he stared at Cid in a sort of shock for a while. He then brought the clothes up to his chest in his arms and nodded, realizing that he'd forgotten about the entire thing ever since other more urgent things had taken precedence on his list of things that he was paranoid about.

"Well..." Cid finished, "nice t' meet ya." He walked off back towards the kitchen, and he called over his shoulder, "There's a shower in the bathroom in Shera's room. Jes rinse yer pants off, an' leave 'em hangin' up in there. She'll come an' get 'em an' make 'em like new." With that, he disappeared, and Vincent was left standing alone in the hallway.

When he entered Shera's room again, he set the clothes on the familiar side chair, and his hand instinctively went for the zipper of his pants. He was suddenly reminded of Tifa's presence when he caught her sleeping form out of the corner of his eye, and thought better of it. Instead, he gathered the clothing in his hand and slung it over his right shoulder, and he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, locking it this time, before undressing himself.

Vincent's eyes caught the mirror, a thin plate that stretched along the entire wall above the counter, and he winced at his appearance. His eyes still spoke on accord of their own, a haunting scene as they pulsed along with the throbbing in his temples. To Vincent, he looked more haggardly than usual, paler in contrast, and he trembled as he fumbled with his zipper.

His hands moved to his hips and he began to slide the fabric from his skin, and he bit his lip as it peeled away, tugging at the small hairs on his body and leaving behind a trail of crusted red. He let the garment fall to the floor around his ankles and stepped out of it, picking it up and setting it in the tub. He turned on the hot water and let it soak into the cloth, and he turned to the cabinets in search of a towel.

Searching through the cabinets on the right side, which were full of lotions and perfumes, he realized quickly that he'd come upon Shera's personal items. Moving to the left side of the counter, he opened the top cabinet and saw a toothbrush, a razor, some toothpaste and some shaving cream, and some deodorant. Directly beneath that small collection were the towels.

Vincent grabbed a towel from the stack and a washcloth as well, and he draped both of them over the sliding shower door. He slid the door open soon after another check in the mirror followed by a heavy sigh, and stepped inside. He bent over to grasp the knob over the faucet, and he pulled it tightly, sending the water flow from the faucet to the showerhead above him. He stepped underneath of the hot spray and let it cleanse him of the stench of his own blood.

The water felt refreshing on his skin, and he held his head back to revel in the feel of it. His cuts had almost closed by then, but there was still a harsh burn on some parts of his back, so once he felt he had gotten used to the feeling, he turned the water cold. It was just in time as well, because as soon as his hand gripped the knob to turn it, he started to feel light in the head, and he crouched down in the tub for fear that he might faint.

Vincent put his head down and idly watched the water run down the drain, clear, pink and red. His breathing became heavy and he sat back on the porcelain surface with his left leg setting out before him and his right knee up. He picked up the mass of cloth that the blood-stained water ran around and permeated with its flow, and he wrung it with his hands. He sat there for a long time, thinking that if he rose again that he would fall over, but after a while he had the urge to rid himself of the water-heavy clothing. He stood slowly so that the blood wouldn't rush to his head all at once, and he draped the pants over the sliding door before dipping back into the shallow water in the bottom of the tub once more.

He let his head rest back on the tiled wall and listened to the labored sound of his own breathing. There was a ringing in his left ear, and he felt as if his head was gradually plugging up. His eyes grew heavy as he watched the steam rise up around him, and he leaned forward with his right hand as a support on the bottom of the tub, and he turned the water cold again with his clawed arm. He inched forward and splashed some of it on his face before finally sticking his entire head under the spray.

After his hair was drenched so that rivulets of the water ran from it, Vincent laid back again. How long he stayed there he did not know, because he fell asleep. When he awoke, the steam was gone, and he was very cold. He pushed himself up from the bottom of the tub and shut the water off. Standing carefully on the slippery surface, he slid the door open and stepped out onto the bathroom floor. Vincent's back was sore from being hunched up against the back of the tub, and he propped himself up by setting his arms on the counter, facing the mirror again. His lips had turned a pale shade of purple, but he wasn't sure whether that was from the cold water or if they had been that way before from his incident with his demons.

Vincent picked the towel up from the counter and quickly dried himself off. Though extreme temperatures normally had little to no effect on him, he was eager to get warm and sought the comfort of the bed. He reached for the pants, which were soft and cozy, something he would never have expected from anything in Cid's wardrobe. Once he had pulled them up, he stopped before grabbing the shirt. He noticed that the absorbption of the water into his skin had caused his scars to stand out, pulling the tissue tight. He ran his fingers over his chest, feeling the rough ridges where they intersected beneath the hollow of his throat.

Vincent slipped the shirt over his head and felt the markings through the thin fabric. The shirt hung from his lithe frame and stretched just past his hip bones. Though he was slender, he was tall and the material was loose on him and worn thin. Clearly defined, his build showed through the cloth, outlined by the way it hung on him, and he felt less than comfortable with it. However, he was much too tired to care; it was clean, and it was better than nothing.

Stepping out from the bathroom and into the bedroom, he noticed quickly that it was light outside. He looked over at the clock on the wall and saw that it was morning. With a heavy sigh, he approached the bed where Tifa lay resting peacefully on her side, her arm curled up beneath her head. He lowered himself to the covers and laid down next to her. As soon as his head hit the pillow, her eyes fluttered open. "...Good morning," she said, smiling at him. "Did you sleep well?"

Vincent continued to watch her expression, somehow warmed by her concern but unsure how to respond to it. He didn't feel he deserved it, after putting her in danger and having her go out of her way to take care of him. He shook his head slightly against the pillow, his eyes unwavering from hers.

Tifa frowned slightly. "You seemed like you were. I stayed up late to see if you would wake up, but you didn't."

Vincent raised an eyebrow, and then he realized that it must have been early morning when he had gotten up, rather than twilight. He relaxed and closed his eyes, pulling the pillow further down with his hand.

"Are you still tired?" she asked him, concern ringing true in her voice. Vincent fought the urge to wince at that and gave a small nod of his head. "Sore?" He nodded again. "It sounds like they're making breakfast. Would you like me to bring you up something?"

It was true, he could hear the sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen. And though he felt strange having her take care of him, he couldn't deny that after almost falling over in the shower, it might be a good idea to eat something. "...That would be...nice," he replied, opening his eyes to catch the relief that passed over her face at the news that he was going to let her help; As far as she could remember, he had barely even touched the breakfast they had two mornings ago. She didn't even know if he'd eaten anything since then.

"Good," she grinned. "I'll go and get some food. You just stay here and rest up." She rose quickly from the bed, still in the clothes she had worn the prevous day, though her sweater was replaced with her white tank top, since it had been stained with blood. She stood on bare feet and made her way to the door. As she stepped out into the hallway, she heard a voice call to her from the bed.

"Tifa."

She turned quickly in her step and saw Vincent facing her, sitting up in the bed and leaning forward slightly, so that his hair covered his face. "Yes?" she asked, hoping something else wasn't wrong.

"My thanks...for all you have done."

Tifa was surprised by this sudden display of gratitude, especially since she wouldn't have thought twice about helping him. Her eyes softened, and she smiled at him, unsure of whether or not he was even looking at her. "You're welcome, Vincent. But I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't, now would I?" She turned and left for the kitchen after that, intent on getting the both of them something to eat and wondering all the way why Vincent never bothered to take care of himself when he was able.

Vincent fell back onto the bed. He'd come to consider her as a friend, that much was true. But he didn't feel ready for her to feel like his burdens were hers. He felt it was something he should never have to share with anyone; she didn't deserve to have to deal with such things.

He closed his eyes again, thinking that he would have to make it up to her somehow.


End file.
